


Orange Electric

by hope_s, Netterz



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bi!Debbie, Bi!Lou, F/F, Heist Wives, Movie Timeline, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_s/pseuds/hope_s, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netterz/pseuds/Netterz
Summary: It's complicated.Not because of them or how they feel, and not because they don't know how they feel.It's all the life that's between them.
Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean
Comments: 170
Kudos: 132





	1. [12 minus 1]

**Author's Note:**

> An exceedingly early version of the Ocean's 8 script has made its way to Script Slug (https://www.scriptslug.com/assets/uploads/scripts/oceans-8-2018.pdf). It's a bit of a trip. Some of the changes are perfect, and some made us want to petition for a reshoot. 
> 
> So, really, what were we to do except write a version that ties the early script with how the movie ended up. 
> 
> TL;DR: we wanted to write a thing together. This was that thing.
> 
> As a fun activity... please feel free to guess which of us writes which chapter in the comments.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: the original script had Lou coded as being bisexual, where the movie represented her as gay. As this is based on the script, we have leaned into the bisexual characterization.

The bubbles floating on top of the water popped against her skin in puffs of grapefruit and cedar. The overpowering smell is welcome after so long only using bar soap that left her feeling as though her outsides actually might crack open right along with her insides if it dragged out too much longer.

She starts at the top of the list once again. This time she makes it all the way to number five of fourteen - not even halfway - before her eyes dart back to the top whether she likes it or not. 

  * _Be FF?_


  * Uncle Monty


  * Sketchy


  * Diva Zapata


  * Loves me Not



She always ends up back at the start.  
 _Be FF?  
_ Back at the start with _her.  
_ _Be FF?_

There’s a bed made-up in thousand thread count egyptian cotton less than twelve steps away and she hasn’t slept in two days and she can’t force her mind to be quiet. She tried. When she first walked into the room and the maid left and the door clicked behind her, she fell backwards onto those sheets still in her heels and coat, surrounded by crisp bags full of beautiful things. She closed her eyes and next thing she knew it was 45 minutes later. But when she actually peeled herself out of that dress - the dress that she’ll need to burn - and washed her face and lay down again, sleep was evasive.

Eventually she gave up and decided to take advantage of the soaker tub.

But now she can’t put down the list. Can’t make it through the entire thing either because, really, all of it hinges on number one. Nothing works without it. Without _her._

 _Be FF?  
_ A question. For now, at least. 

She’s tired. God, she’s tired. Hasn’t been _this_ tired and still unable to sleep in sheets like _those_ since _before._

She had tried to sleep. Had tried to sleep engulfed in million-thread-count sheets. Couldn’t though. Can’t remember being this tired and also this restless. Well, she can. But not since _before._

_Nobody wants to work alone; not even an Ocean loath as they might all be to admit it. Even Danny didn’t like it - even Danny had Rusty. She thought she had Danny. But, well, she’d been down that road before and it had always been the same. She told herself that next time she wouldn’t fall for it. Wouldn’t fall for it_ again. _She can’t sleep. Thousand thread count isn’t as comforting when you’ve just been screwed over by your big brother. But, Vegas doesn’t sleep either and what was the use in letting the opportunity to get_ something _out of the trip slip past?_

 _It was more of a challenge to work the tables in the wee hours, anyways. And Deborah Ocean always liked a challenge; knowing that she can do what she wants, when she wants, regardless of what kind of cover she has. Not like Danny. Danny relied on the fireworks to keep the eyes away from him. Debbie might not be surrounded by_ circumstance, _but where Danny went big, Debbie was chic._

 _It was her hands that Debbie noticed first - quick fingers switching out chips the same way her own were. Fast; efficient; clean. Eyes came next - blue;_ so _blue; and staring at Debbie from underneath perfectly manicured brows._

_It would have been hard not to notice the jawline; and the cheekbones - all but concave. She wouldn’t notice the strong shoulder and slim waist until later. Those didn’t matter yet. All that mattered, then, was that Debbie wasn’t the only one at that table. And that could have been the best thing to happen all night, or it could have been the worst thing to happen all year. She wouldn’t know until -_

_“I think we have something in common.” The smooth Australian lilt came from beside her, through the almost-stifling hot air, its owner sinking down onto the chaise by the water, beside Debbie’s.  
_ _“I got there first.”  
_ _“I know.”_

 _Debbie wasn’t sure where the wad of cash had been stashed, but - “I don’t want a cut.”  
_ _“Do you know what a Savannah is?”  
_ _“I’m in.”_

 _The hand she shook was softer than Debbie had expected, but the grip was stronger. “Lou Miller. I knew your brother.”  
_ _“Who didn’t.”  
_ _“_ Not _like that. We did some work together.”  
_ _“So did I. Had some trouble settling up.”  
_ _“So did I.”_

_That was when Debbie first took Lou in, in full. Regarded her over the top of the drink she raised to her lips--pink lips and hollow cheeks and impossibly long legs. Platinum hair, cut blunt. And a smirk. A smirk that Debbie wouldn’t mind seeing on Lou’s face every day._

_“So we were at that table together, last night, by_ accident? _”  
_ _“Of course.” It’s drawled out over Lou’s accent, and Debbie thinks she could get used to hearing that voice.  
_ _“How do you know my brother?”  
_ _“Your role in all of_ that _? He replaced me four days ago.”  
_ _“That was already two days into the job.”  
_ _“Not much of a decoy, no. But I supposed they aren’t capable of seeing much other than lips and hips and breasts.”_

_It didn’t take long for Lou to realize that she enjoyed watching Debbie work. Quick hands following a quicker mind._

_And she liked that. It was not what she had been looking for._

_In her wildest imagination she really had just been looking for a little payback to deliver to Daniel Ocean. Maybe somebody to work with once in a while. She didn’t expect Daniel Ocean’s little sister to look like_ that _. To be sleek and hot and hard to handle and intimidating all at once. And smooth. So_ damn _smooth even while drinking bar-rail vodka and wearing hooker heels. And Lou fell into sync with all of it faster than she realized what was happening._

_“I have a fence we can call when we get back to New York.”_

_It didn’t surprise Lou that Debbie would have somebody at the ready; it surprised her a little that she had somebody that she so readily trusted to not call Danny._

_“They’re more loyal to you than your brother?”  
_ _“I’ve known Tammy forever. Danny can’t touch that--wishes he could, though. That_ and _her. I’m more her type than he is.” Debbie tosses in a wink. “We can trust her.”_

 _Lou discovered that Tammy was impossibly bright-eyed, not quite as scathing as most fences, and absolutely smitten with Debbie. Which was fine. Mostly. Well, it_ was _because Lou had no claim over her new partner, not any further than a fair cut from their work. But it wasn’t the discovery she had hoped to make either._

_Debbie had history with Tammy. Lou couldn’t touch that - knew she couldn’t touch it. And really wasn’t in the business of trying._

The bubbles in the tub pop sharp against Debbie’s skin. There’s more than one option for almost every character in her script - she has preferences, but those are neither here nor there. 

But _Be FF?_

It only works with Lou. And she hates that it’s still a question


	2. [less than 3]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Louise -"  
> "- don't call me Louise -"  
> "- you are the most brilliant idiot I've ever met."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In response to a few asks, rest assured that there will be some exploration on the dynamic between Lou and Tammy, and the versions of each of them that exist in this version.
> 
> And also, because we promised: y'all called it. Netterz wrote chapter 1.
> 
> We hope that you enjoy this update!

The wheels on her suitcase struggle with the cracks and dips scattered over the concrete. 

The cemetery seems quiet.   
Even for a cemetery.   
Even for a Thursday. 

It means that she’s still arrived earlier than she originally planned - had tossed and turned and eventually given up on sleep in the king-size bed at The Plaza - but later than she had expected after leaving that early, slowed down by a suitcase that couldn’t keep pace.

She had some time, though. It was just after 11:00.  
Had time to see her brother’s name set in stone.   
Time to settle her mind.   
Time to be waiting by the time the ambush she was already sure would come, arrived. 

Time to wait for  _ Lou _ . Fair is fair, after-all, and Lou’s been waiting for years; waited for years  _ before, _ too.

  
  


_ *** _

  
  


_ Tammy was a good fence. Probably one of the best Lou had ever worked with and that made working with her easy. Easy to hand things over; easy to trust that the payout would come even if Lou wasn’t breathing down her neck every free moment; easy to let her into the circle. _

_ To some extent, at least. _

_ It hurt though - working with Tammy. Not  _ working _ with her, exactly. But watching Debbie work with her. There was familiarity in their touches - Debbie’s hand on Tammy’s shoulder; Tammy’s pecks to Debbie’s cheek. _

_ It was clear, to Lou at least, that Tammy was smitten and Debbie had been willing to indulge her at least once, in the past. Lou didn’t ask how many times - didn’t want to know. _

_ Lou wasn’t afraid of Tammy; wasn’t threatened by her. Maybe wished she could be in her place. Just a little bit. Just some of the time.  _

_ But, there it was. And so, Lou watched even though she often tried not to.  _

_ Spent  _ four years _ watching; being so close to Debbie almost-almost all of the time - not as though the studio apartment they could barely afford downtown allowed for much else. Spent  _ four years _ feeling like she could almost touch Debbie, but not quite, because every time she’d be on the verge of reaching out they would need a fence. And Tammy was the best, Lou wouldn’t have ever argued that. She watched Tammy’s eyes follow Debbie around a room; watched Tammy see  _ through _ Debbie to the version of  _ Deb _ that she’d known for longer than she hadn’t, since long before Debbie was the schemer and Tammy was the fence. Since they were  _ just _ Deb and Tam-Tam. _

_ Debbie had already called Tammy to let her know when they would be back in New York by the time Lou was trailing behind her on the way back to their room in the hotel attached to the casino. Lou was counting the straps of cash while Debbie sorted the watches, mentally preparing herself to see Debbie enveloped into Tammy’s arms when they landed back home. For Debbie to invite Tammy for dinner in the tiny studio she shared with Lou, where Lou wouldn’t have anywhere to hide, even if she wanted to. _

_ Even lost in her own thoughts Lou could keep count of a stack of bills. What she didn’t notice was Debbie prowling towards her, having finished an inventory of the non-cash parts of their take. Lou didn’t notice until she’d raised her hand to her lips, and her tongue was scraping across the pad of her thumb to help separate one bill from the next. _

_ It was Debbie’s eyes that she noticed first - with a glint that she hadn’t quite seen in full-force before; a glint that seemed like she meant business of some sort or another. She didn’t have time to notice much else before Debbie was  _ right there _ , in front of her, running a fingernail down the side of her neck and across a collar bone to her shoulder. And then Lou recognized the glint. Recognized it as the full-body version of the edge that crept into the corners of Debbie’s eyes when she was particularly enjoying  _ the game _ of a mark.  _

_ "What about Tammy?" The question slipped over the tip of Lou’s tongue. She averted her eyes from Debbie’s; slid the paper strap back around the stack of cash she’d finished with. _

_ "Louise -"  
_ _ "- don't call me Louise -"  
_ _ "- you are the most brilliant idiot I've ever met." _

_ Lou was forced to meet Debbie’s gaze again when Debbie took hold of the chain hanging long from around her neck and tugged it gently, demanding her attention.  _

_ "Tammy doesn't want me, Lou."  
_ _ "Tammy wants you, Debs."  
_ _ "Tammy wants  _ Deb _." _

_ And that _ , that  _ made sense to Lou - the difference between  _ Deb _ and  _ Debs _. The difference between the person that Debbie was without the jobs and the scheming and the meticulous nature, and the whole package. _

_ "And what do I want?"  
_ _ "You want Deborah Ocean." _

_ And  _ Deb  _ might be the stripped-back version; but  _ Debs _ was the formidable Deborah Ocean. And Deborah Ocean loved being everything all at once. _

_ "And what do  _ you _ want?" _

_ "I want to be Deborah Ocean,” Debbie sank down, straddling Lou’s lap as she spoke. Released Lou’s necklace in favour of tucking two fingers into the v in her vest, nails just-almost scraping the top of the dip between her breasts; pulled Lou’s spine taught with a tug. “And I want you to want me." _

_ And Lou did want her. Wanted Deborah Ocean. Not because she was Danny Ocean’s little sister - Linus; not because she was her father’s daughter - Saul; and not because she was clever and hot and doted on Tammy with beautiful things.  _

_ “What if I want to kiss you?” Lou tried to lean in as she spoke but the back of Debbie’s fingers against her sternum held her where she was.  _

_ "Nuh-uh."  
_ _ "What are you doing?"  
_ _ “I want you to say it.” Debbie’s breath was hot against Lou’s face, tongue swiping across her lip and Lou can almost taste it. And the words were  _ right there.

_ “Not like this.” _

_ Debbie tore herself away from Lou before Lou could so much as take hold of a wrist. Tore her fingers out of Lou’s vest; herself off Lou’s lap. She was nearly halfway across the room before Lou managed to catch her arm. _

_ She had overstepped - Debbie was sure. How did she read it so wrong? Read anybody  _ that _ wrong? Read _ Lou _ , of all people, that wrong? But then Lou’s hand against her upper arm was steady, and trailed down her skin until she could wrap Debbie’s hand in her own and pull her towards the door and the hallway. _

_ “Come with me.”  _

_ Lou all but dragged Debbie down the hall, into the fire escape stairway, and up to the roof. Even well into the night the heat from the day still hung in the air, releasing from the asphalt stories and stories below, and the tar and gravel rooftops.  _

_ Lou nudged Debbie towards the edge of the roof where they had a clear view of the Las Vegas strip at 1am. Debbie let her palms rest against the rusting metal guard-rail. Lou stood just behind her shoulder; not touching her but close enough that Debbie could feel the heat coming off of her body.  _

_ “What do you see, Debs?” _

_ Debbie’s eyes narrowed as her mind clicked into action.  _

_ “Pick-pocket two blocks East and one South on the corner -”  
_ _ “- yellow ball cap?”  
_ _ “That’s them. They just lifted the wallets from both of the guys in business-school suits that stopped to ask for directions.”  
_ _ “What else?”  
_ _ “A  _ John _ one block West.”  
_ _ “Mm. In the pinstripes.”  
_ _ “Two couples going into that wedding chapel three blocks North.” _

_ Lou paused for a beat before continuing. Gave Debbie’s mind a chance to fully settle into the scene below them, and then - _

_  
_ _ “Who’s your mark?”  
_ _ “What are you -”  
_ _ “ _ Who  _ is your mark?” _

_ Debbie took her time that time - weighed all of her options before speaking.  _

_ “Redhead in a cocktail dress heading South two blocks from the casino.”  
_ _ “Why?” Lou prodded. Wanted the full reason, the full version of Deborah Ocean on display while they stood on the roof. _

_ “The cocktail dress is cheap, but the shoes are Louboutins. They’re real. You can tell by how the heel holds every time she stomps. She’s carrying an actual purse, not a fanny pack. She isn’t from around here - nobody from Vegas stays at the casino until this time on a weekday, but she’s too together to be an obvious mark. We wouldn’t have any competition.” _

_ Lou finally touched her, then. Palms hot against her waist turning her around so they were face to face. _

_ “I  _ want  _ you Deborah Ocean.” _

_ “I already knew that.” One eyebrow quirked. “You brought me all the way up here when we could have been tying up loose ends, or doing something  _ better _ , to tell me what I already knew?” _

__ “No.”  
_ “Then -”  
_ _ “I  _ love __ you, Deborah Ocean.”


	3. [2005]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie stopped in her tracks in the middle of the airport parkade and wrapped her fingers around Lou’s arm to hold her still, forced her to face her. Her grip was firm but careful.
> 
> “I trust you with everything, baby.”  
> “Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving kudos and comments <3
> 
> This chapter is entirely in flashback, because who doesn’t love some Debbie/Lou back story?
> 
> Hope has staged a jail break for herself and will be on a (VERY deserved) vacation for a week... so I’ll be responding to any asks or etc. solo until her return <3
> 
> Oh, and as promised: Netterz wrote chapter 2. Don’t forget to keep the guesses coming in as we go!

_“I love you,_ Deborah Ocean _.”_

_And Debbie believed her because Lou Miller didn’t play games and Lou didn’t mince words._

_Debbie hooked her fingers back into the_ v _of Lou’s vest. Only this time when Lou leaned forward Debbie pulled her in faster instead of holding her back._

_Her lips were softer than Debbie had expected - a little chapped from the matte lipstick she’d been wearing earlier in the night, and she tasted like the remnants of cinnamon gum and dry gin when she pressed against Debbie, pressed Debbie into the guardrail behind her while bracing her own hands against the metal on either side of her body._

_The railing cut into Debbie back and she straightened up, pressing herself tighter into Lou in the process, and licked into her mouth when she gasped._

_Lou let go on the rail in favour of Debbie's waist, fingers digging into flesh; slowly inching upwards; far more slowly than Debbie wanted them to. Up to dig into her ribs, and up a little further until her thumbs could trace the curve along the undersides of her breasts. Up just a little more until her palms were hot and steady around her sides and her thumbs could run over Debbie’s nipples, pebbling through her satin blouse. Debbie whined - so soft that Lou felt it more than she heard it tremble from the back of her throat. Lou smirked against Debbie’s lips and made to pop a button on the blouse in her way when they were interrupted by sirens cutting through the air at street-level._

_Lights followed - up the street and into the taxi stand in front of the hotel doors._

_Debbie held Lou fast against her - not willing to let go yet; turned her head to peer down from their vantage point._

_“That’s our cue.”  
_ _“Time to go.”_

_It didn’t take long to pack up the rest of their things - took longer to make sure all of the bills were strapped back up properly, really._

_They used the same emergency exit stairs that took them to the roof, to descend to street level and exit the building - had checked it out before ever checking into the place. The camera at the ground-floor exit was broken, had been for a while it appeared. And creating a two foot blind spot on the floor where their room was located had been child’s play_

_The cash was split into four parcels - three small and one large. Each of the three smaller ones were deposited using 24-hour ATMs between the hotel and the airport. The final parcel was dropped off to Miguel, a fence in Vegas that Lou knew who would be able to drop the funds into an offshore account without ever having to cross state lines._

_“And you’re sure we can trust them?”  
_ _“Never done me wrong before.”  
_ _"There’s a first time for -”  
_ _“- I’m sure. I know him from home - from Australia. He got me the plane ticket out of my hellhole and never asked for anything other than ticket price. I’ve returned the favour at least three times over, but he’s good. I need you to trust me.”_

_Debbie stopped in her tracks in the middle of the airport parkade and wrapped her fingers around Lou’s arm to hold her still, forced her to face her. Her grip was firm but careful._

_“I trust you with everything, baby.”  
_ _“Everything.”_

_Sitting across from Debbie at gate E10, Lou didn’t know where to look. It seemed strange just to stare at her as Debbie’s eyes raked over last Saturday’s New York Times Crossword puzzle, filling in squares like lightning. She wondered how Debbie could concentrate just hours after fleeing their hotel, just hours after Lou’s confession on the rooftop. She had loved Debbie forever, probably, and she had wanted her since the day they met four years ago. Lou’s skin tingled. This was going to be the longest flight of her life. Dragging her eyes away from Debbie, Lou tried to concentrate on the jet that had just pulled up at E12, squinting through the pre-dawn light outside. She tried to count the passengers as they disembarked, taking a page out of Debbie’s book. Counting things always soothed Debbie’s anxiety._

_Lou lost count and her eyes drifted back to Debbie, who was curled into the uncomfortable airport seat as though her long legs were made to be tied up in knots. Lou, in contrast, sprawled. Elbows on her knees, hands held loosely between her thighs, Lou could feign nonchalance. But inside she was on fire, and God, she hoped she was right in thinking that Debbie was too. The kiss had stirred something in her chest like nothing she could remember. And who was she becoming? Telling a girl she loved her before she had even_ kissed _her? But that_ kiss _..._

_Debbie finished her crossword and checked her watch. “Eight minutes, thirty-two seconds.”_

_Lou raised her eyebrow._

_Debbie sighed and uncurled her legs from the chair. “That’s almost a minute over my Saturday average.” She sounded legitimately disappointed._

_“Well,” Lou reasoned, “you’ve been up all night.”_

_“Mm,” Debbie acknowledged, clearly distracted by her own thoughts as she carefully folded the Arts section of the Times and slipped it into her carry-on bag along with her fountain pen. She glanced up at Lou and held her gaze with an inscrutable expression. Lou felt her own breath hitch._

_She was relieved when the static-laden voice of a gate attendant cut through the heavy moment. “First Class passengers and those traveling with young children may now begin boarding American Airlines flight 3811 for New York City - JFK.”_

_Debbie winked and dropped her gaze. Lou stared at her for another moment before shaking herself mentally and gathering her things. She hadn’t slept for almost twenty-four hours, but maybe falling in love always felt like this - foggy, tingly, a little like talking with novocaine in your gums._

_Oh yes, Lou had loved her forever. But having Debbie love her back, having Debbie_ beg _for Lou to say the words? Yes, now she could fall for her - hook, line, and sinker._

_She wasn’t sure if either of them slept on the way home. Looking back, Lou couldn’t even remember if they talked. All she remembered was Debbie’s hand in hers, across the Rockies and the Great Plains, all the way until they circled down into a New York City morning, squinting in the sun. She sipped spicy bourbon with her left hand while Debbie held her right, pressed against the faux leather of the airplane seat where no one could see._

_**_

_Debbie’s head spun in the early morning sun. The taxi was over-air conditioned, but even the icy chill from the vents didn’t mask the syrup-thick humidity outside. It was a sharp contrast to Vegas, where the sun scorched rather than smouldered. The New York summer could boil you alive at eight o’clock in the morning. Debbie leaned her forehead against the cab window, felt the throbbing of her pulse in her temple. She missed Lou’s skin against hers even though Lou was barely a foot away from her on the other side of the car. It would be easy to reach across the seat between them and hold her hand, just as she had for the entire flight from Nevada. It_ should _be easy. Debbie clenched and unclenched her fingers and let her hand drop to her side. Just as she was about to slide her hand towards Lou, she caught a glimpse of the taxi driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t looking at her, just glancing back to change lanes on Belt Parkway, but the glance made her pause. After so many years of longing even the casual touches felt intimate, and Debbie couldn’t let them belong to anyone but her and Lou._ Her and Lou. 

What would happen when they were alone? _The thought made Debbie sit up straight once more. She glanced at Lou and gave her a nervous smile. Lou tried to wink, but both of her eyes twitched, as usual. Debbie blushed and smiled more broadly. Every place that Lou had ever touched her felt warm, particularly the new spots where Lou’s clever fingers had nudged and teased as they kissed on the rooftop. Debbie crossed her legs more tightly - her pulse seemed to have moved from her temple to between her thighs. Hoping Lou wouldn’t notice her fidgeting, Debbie tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and gazed out the window once more and tried to focus on the streets of Brooklyn passing by._

 _The apartment was small, even for two of them, but it had large windows and a decent kitchen, at Lou’s insistence. Climbing the five flights seemed to take hours even with just one carry-on each. The last twenty-four hours without sleep were starting to catch up to her, and by the time Lou unlocked the door and stood back to let Debbie inside first, Debbie was struggling to keep her eyes open. She rolled her suitcase over the threshold and kicked off her shoes. Lou had been right; the heels were much too tall for airports, but she hadn’t had much choice as they hastened to pack up their belongings and, more importantly, their take. She would have had more time to choose her shoes if they hadn’t spent so long kissing._ Oh _, the kissing. Debbie strode to the sink, took down a glass from the cupboard to the right, and poured herself a glass of water. As she drank it, the door clicked behind Lou. Debbie drained the glass and placed it in the sink. It was hot. Her skin itched under the satin blouse she had worn for far too many hours. Automatically, her fingers strayed to her buttons and she undid one._

_“Want some help with that ?” Lou’s voice was closer than Debbie had expected. Debbie turned to find Lou just behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to find Lou’s. Every muscle in her body was sluggish in the heat. But then their eyes met, and Lou’s eyes had never been this blue, not even on the night they met across that poker table._

_Debbie let her hands fall to her sides, held Lou’s gaze, and nodded._

_Lou’s fingers were gentle, and they trembled slightly against Debbie’s skin. Debbie’s breath hitched as Lou traced the line of her collarbone, blue eyes dropping to watch her own fingers. Debbie’s eyelids fluttered. All at once, Lou’s other hand was cupping her jaw, pulling her into a kiss. A moan caught in Debbie’s throat as she melted against Lou, hands scrabbling at Lou’s necklaces and the buttons of her vest. Her shirt slid from her shoulders, and Debbie felt exposed in just the tight camisole she was wearing underneath. Debbie tugged at Lou’s buttons and was answered with a soft noise of assent from Lou’s throat. The buttons proved challenging in her sleep deprived state, and with a noise of frustration Debbie broke their kiss to look between them, lightheaded by the sight of Lou’s skin coming into view and by the shivers running down her spine as Lou’s mouth found her neck._

_As soon as her vest fell to the ground, Lou swung Debbie around and guided her towards the bedroom side of the apartment, behind the makeshift partition of bookshelves. The humidity rose beads of sweat on Debbie’s chest, and she dropped her hands from Lou to her own hips, undoing the fastening of her pants. Lou’s hands moved deftly - sliding down Debbie’s arms, caressing her waist, pushing the fabric down her legs even as the backs of her knees found the bed behind her and she fell backwards._

_Lou unclasped her own bra and tossed it aside, along with her tight black jeans a second later. Debbie had seen her like this a thousand times - bare-chested, in boxers, with her hair messed up. It was Lou’s typical morning look. Yesterday, it had been hard to look away. Today, it was_ impossible _._

 _Debbie sighed. “You’re beautiful.” It was a relief to finally_ say _it._

_Lou paused and looked down at her, swept her bangs away from her eyes. “You’re stunning." Her eyes raked over Debbie’s torso and down her legs._

_Debbie sat up just enough to take Lou’s hand and pull her down to the bed. “We need to sleep,” she said._

_“Yeah, just let me -” Lou kissed her again._ _Slower now. Softer._ _“Just want to feel you,” Lou murmured against Debbie’s mouth._

_Somehow they made it to the head of the bed, collapsed against pillows that had been kept intentionally separate thus far. Debbie tugged Lou closer by the waistband of her boxers, pressed herself tight against her despite the heat and the sweat._

_“Lou,” Debbie mumbled. She wasn’t sure if she was half-asleep yet or whether kissing Lou would always feel a little like dreaming.  
_ _“Yeah, honey?”  
_ _“Baby, I love you, too.”_

_**_

  
  


_Lou traced the line of Debbie’s spine with her eyes and then with one long finger, catching against the tank top that still covered too much of her skin. She couldn’t quite believe this was real._

_The sun was still devastatingly bright outside, and Lou guessed it was well-past noon. Inside, it was hot and muggy, a bit like living in a greenhouse. They had a window-unit air conditioner, but neither of them had been lucid enough to turn it on when they arrived that morning - exhausted, caught up in each other and the aftermath of a good job. Lou dragged herself out of bed and turned on the unit, stood in front of it for a few seconds, until she shivered. It wouldn’t take long to cool the place down, and meanwhile…_

_“Hey,” came Debbie’s groggy voice from the bed.  
_ _Lou smiled at her, feeling almost shy. “Hey.”  
_ _“Come here.”_

_Lou went, kneeled on the bed straddling one of Debbie’s legs. She caressed Debbie’s opposite knee, felt Debbie shift to open her legs wider, inviting Lou closer. Lou bent over her, propped herself on an elbow. Debbie’s hands ran over her shoulders, down her back. She could hear Debbie’s breaths quickening as her fingers trailed higher up her inner thigh, drawing spirals._

_“What do you want, honey?”  
_ _“You.”  
_ _“Yeah, but -”  
_ _“_ Touch _me, Lou.” Debbie’s fingers closed around Lou’s wrist and guided her hand upwards to the damp patch on Debbie’s lacy underwear.  
_ _Lou moved her fingers in firm circles. “Like this?”_

_Debbie drew a shaky breath and nodded, biting her lip. Lou felt her trembling. She shifted just enough to tug Debbie’s underwear down her legs, teased the inside of her thigh once more._

_“_ Please _, Lou.”  
_ _Soft, wet skin and her fingers slipping, trying to find a rhythm. “Christ,” Lou muttered. “You’re perfect.”  
_ _So are you.” Debbie’s hands found her breasts and Lou buried her face in Debbie’s neck, breathed her in as electricity spread through her limbs.  
_ _Lou moved over her,_ into _her.  
_ _“_ Fuck, _baby.”_

_Debbie’s fingers danced lower, and Lou’s rhythm stuttered._

_“Is this -?” Debbie toyed with Lou’s waistband.  
_ _"Keep going,” Lou whispered. Debbie’s palm was warm between her thighs._

_Lou felt her control ebbing, felt her fingers establish a rhythm of their own as Debbie slid into her. Hot breath, sweat-slick skin, Lou’s boxers and Debbie’s camisole flung away so they were bare but for Lou’s necklaces sticking to both their chests. Lou cried out as Debbie curled her fingers and tipped her over the edge, pressed further into Debbie and felt her tremble seconds later._

_Lou resurfaced with her fingers still buried inside her, the taste of Debbie’s skin like sunlight on her tongue._

_“Beautiful.”_

_**_

_“You dragged me out of bed for this?”_

_Debbie looked up from the plate between them and across the sticky diner table at Lou. “What? This place has the best steak and eggs in New York.”_

_Lou rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, fixing Debbie with a suspicious glare. She sipped her coffee without dropping her gaze._

_“Why, what did you think we were doing?” Debbie asked around a mouthful of fried potatoes._

_Lou leaned forward. “Well, I thought when you said you had something important to show me it might have to do with a job.”_

_Debbie swallowed her mouthful of potatoes. “This_ is _important.” She cut a piece of steak and held it out towards Lou on the end of her fork._

 _Lou pursed her lips. “We could have spent the whole day in_ bed _, Debbie. Don’t you think we deserve that?” She tilted her head suggestively, and Debbie felt warmth bloom in her stomach. Still, how could Lou expect to make up for lost time on an empty stomach?_

 _“We also deserve to_ eat _, baby. The bed’s not going anywhere. Take a bite!” She pushed the fork towards Lou’s mouth once more._

 _“You’re infuriating.”  
_ Debbie shrugged. “You love me.”   
_Lou sighed and shook her head in fond exasperation, tongue massaging the inside of her cheek.  
_ Debbie rolled her eyes. “Just take a bite.”


	4. [more than 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Some things never change,” she murmurs, leans back in the seat and takes a deep breath of cigarettes. “You’ve been wearing my perfume.” 
> 
> “You left a bottle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every single one of you who has been reading, and leaving kudos, and comments, and tumblr asks <3  
> We get Hope back this week - yaaaaaay - but it really has been such a pleasure to have you all to myself for a week (even though sharing is also fun).
> 
> As promised: the last chapter was actually authored by both of us! With Netterz writing the lead-in and Hope taking over for the rest!
> 
> Don't forget to keep guessing as we go :).

The sound of a throat being cleared, and then a cough.   
Debbie can hear a lifetime of cigars in that cough. 

It’s enough to bring her back to the present, to the name in front of her. She knows the hint of burning behind her eyes isn’t for Danny, not yet. Not until she’s  _ sure _ . Lou will know, and maybe that’s why it’s easier to think about her than him. 

“I know you’re there, Reuben. You can come on out.” 

The soles of his shoes squeak on the marble floor. He’s shuffling more than he was six years ago, and Debbie hides a grimace in her coat collar. “I was just paying my respects,” he blusters.

“Around the corner?” Debbie just about cracks a smile, and it feels good to know that he can still make her laugh.  
“They thought I’d be the best one to talk to you.” 

Her stomach clenches, hot then cold. Six years, six  _ years _ and her brother in a fucking tomb, and  _ this  _ is her welcome? 

She pushes down her disappointment, “Gotta go,” turns and walks away, and he squeaks after her like a puppy.

“He didn’t want you to do this, Deborah,” Reuben pleads.  
“Do what?” She smirks.  
“Whatever it is he wouldn’t tell us you’re gonna do.” 

A wave of satisfaction hits Debbie in the chest.  _ He didn’t tell them; not even Reuben.  _ She glances back at Danny’s name with more fondness, now. Maybe this was his way of apologizing. And just like that, the sullen edge of regret creeds back into her bones. Did Reuben know about Vegas all those years ago? About how Danny screwed her over? Did he know about Lou, about Claude Becker?

“Look, Deb. Sometimes just knowing the job will work is satisfaction enough. You don’t actually gotta do it.” 

“What else did he say?” She makes a show of her airy tone, but inside she doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Because those aren’t Reuben’s words. No, they’re dripping with  _ Danny’s _ false-caution,  _ Danny’s _ sweet talk,  _ Danny’s _ condescension. She turns her back completely on her brother’s name and walks back towards her stolen suitcase by the door. 

“He said it was brilliant.”   
“Oh, okay.” It’s the best answer she can come up with as the cynicism chills her heart. Reuben doesn’t deserve her iciness, but that’s what happens when you build your life on lies, she thinks.   
“And that you’d probably end up back in prison.”   
“I’m  _ not  _ gonna end up back in prison,” she cuts him off, injects a bit of kindness into the last few words because he’s cared about her and  _ for  _ her more than anyone. 

Almost anyone. A horn beeps outside, sending a shiver down Debbie’s spine. And she can’t help but turn her head. 

“I gotta go.” If he knew what the job was, he would try to stop her again. But he’s more curious than wary, even now. Something gives way inside her, not enough to show on her face, but enough to bring the burning back behind her eyes. She leans forward and kisses his cheek. 

“Be careful,” he says. For some reason, one that she’s not ready to unpack at the moment, it feels like a kind of blessing. She takes it as such. Also takes in his tartan coat with its broad fur collar, his royal blue silk shirt, his custom-fitted hat. 

“You’re looking sharp.” 

***

_ “Just take a bite.”  _

_ Lou did. And that night, she spent hours making up for lost time, tracing every inch of Debbie with her fingers and her lips. No one had ever taken her apart like that, and Debbie was quite certain that no one ever would again. _

__

***

It takes at least five minutes of Lou’s company before Debbie’s mind starts catching up. Outside the battered gold Toyota, it’s still raining. Debbie’s surprised for a moment, because it feels like several seasons must have passed in the time since she opened the door and was enveloped in  _ Lou _ once more. But no. It’s the same rain, the same day, and also the same goddamn car that Lou drove all those years ago, so maybe it’s not that surprising that time is a difficult concept at the moment. 

“Some things never change.” She leans back in the seat and takes a deep breath of cigarettes and, “You’ve been wearing my perfume.” 

“You left a bottle.” 

Debbie smiles, closes her eyes, trying not to feel too nostalgic about the absence of Lou’s Tom Ford Tobacco. She wore it for years, bought a bottle not long after that last Vegas job. The new scent marked a new life together, and Debbie spent more of her prison sentence than she liked to admit with memories of it in her nose. She picked up the bottle at Bergdorf yesterday, sprayed a little just to see how close her memory had been. It all came rushing back - the tiny apartment, the confessions, the sweetness, but also what happened later. She remembered shaking against Lou after the nights spent with Claude, how all she wanted was to drown in Tom Ford Tobacco, but it was never enough to mask the smell of  _ him _ . And so, at Bergdorf, she replaced the bottle on its shelf and chose something new, which is now nestled in the silk scarf in her pocket. A new start.

“Did Reuben tell you about the funeral?”

Debbie opens her eyes. “You went?” All thoughts of perfume are driven from her mind. She hadn’t expected Lou to attend.   
Lou nods. “I did. Your father seemed less than pleased to see me.”   
Debbie scoffs. “I’m sure he’d still rather see you than me.”   
“Maybe.” Lou shrugs. “Rusty was nicer. He sat with me.”   
“Rusty just wanted to get close enough to see down your shirt.”   
Lou grins, eyes twinkling suggestively in Debbie’s direction. “Nothing he hasn’t seen before.” 

Debbie can’t prevent herself from making a fake gagging sound. “I always forget you actually  _ went  _ there.”   
“Yeah, twenty  _ years _ ago. Anyway, Reuben gave the eulogy. Had lots of nice things to say. Everyone cried, except your father, of course. The casket was white and gold - just a hint of Vegas.” Lou smiles. “ _ Very  _ Danny.”   
Debbie feels her heart clench at the image. “Was it open?” she asks quietly. 

Lou looks sideways at her, doesn’t respond. 

“Was it  _ open _ , Lou?” Debbie asks again, sharp this time. Her voice almost breaks on Lou’s name.  
Lou nods warily. “Yeah, Debs, it was open. I saw him.”   
“ _ And? _ ” Debbie prompts, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Was it the real Danny?”   
“They never look real, honey.” 

“Yeah, but -”  
“ _ Yes _ ,” Lou interrupted her. “Yes. It was him.”   
“Oh.” 

**

Lou watches her sink her head against the window, wants to reach out, but Debbie pushed her away before. Grief is complicated. 

“Saul said there was a letter,” Debbie says after a moment. “But they lost it.”   
Lou’s heart beats in her throat as she opens her mouth to tell her.  
“Did you get the credit line?” 

And Lou remembers that there’s still a job to do.

It’s hard to keep her eyes on the road and not on Debbie, hard to believe she’s here for real after all these years. She tries not to think about the last time she saw her, being led away in that stuffy courtroom. Orange was never Debbie’s color, and Lou was sure she was the only one who recognized the fear in Debbie’s eyes. It was hard not to punch Claude in the face - doubly hard not to do it in front of a judge in order to follow Debbie into prison. All she wanted was to be with her; she didn’t much care about the specifics. But Debbie needed her on the outside, and so Lou stayed strong, kept her distance, made sure the cigarettes made it to Dina every Wednesday. She didn’t hear much.  _ You make a hot brunette, baby _ , said the note scribbled on prison letterhead a few weeks after the trial, in reference to Lou’s courtroom disguise.  _ But the hazel eyes were dull.  _

Oh, Lou had missed her. 

Debbie’s talking about jewels and Elizabeth Taylor and all Lou wants to do is kiss her, but somehow, it’s been too long. It breaks Lou’s heart just a little, right along the same crack that was made at the trial. The perfume is unexpected - not the one she used to wear, something new. And it’s too much to process, too much new information that has Lou cowering away from feelings that had been her comfort for so long. But it was never going to be the same as it was before. She should have realized. Should have  _ thought - _

“Nice place.”   
“Try heating it.” Lou shifts through the mail that Adrián, her bar manager, dropped off. It’s easy, this life of hers. Easy and a little too routine. She needs what Debbie’s offering, whatever it is. But she needs  _ Debbie  _ too, and the hard part is, she’s not sure that Debbie needs her, not like  _ that _ .   
“There’s a room for you upstairs. Your stuff’s upstairs, too,” she tells her. “You know I borrowed some shit, figured you weren’t using it.” She smirks at Debbie over her shoulder, goes to fix a pot of tea. 

Debbie smiles back. 

The tea helps against the chill outside, which has of course seeped  _ inside  _ too. Lou shivers, but Debbie sheds her coat and wraps her hands around the mug. Breathes deep. Lou can’t imagine what she’s feeling - not being able to predict what’s changed, what’s stayed the same. The steam curls up in spirals. Debbie takes a sip, eyes closed. 

“Mm.”   
“Good?”   
“ _ So  _ good.”   
“Who have you called so far?” Debbie asks after a few sips. 

Lou shakes her head. “No one yet. I need more information.” 

“Really?” Debbie raises her eyebrows incredulously.   
“If you want me as your _partner_ ,” Lou swallows, trying to ignore the loaded nature of the word. “Then you have to tell me the whole plan.” 

Debbie clicks her tongue, but there’s a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. She takes a few more sips of tea. It’s only then Lou noticed the circles under her eyes, the slight droop to her eyelids. “You d -” Lou begins, wanting to assure her that the story can wait until morning. But Debbie beats her to it. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” She drains her cup of tea, rises from the armchair. Lou barely has time to react before Debbie is pressing a swift kiss to her cheek and walking back towards the front door. “I’ll see you later.” 

Lou stands up a little too fast, blinks against the head rush. “You just got here!” 

Debbie smirks and shrugs. “I’ve been inside for six years. I’m going for a walk.”

The door closes with a snap, and Lou sinks back into the couch. She sets her tea aside, losing interest in its promise of warmth. Debbie has only spent ten minutes in the loft, but the entire building feels a whole lot colder without her in it. 

**

“What’s up, boss?”   
“Can you  _ please _ just call me Lou? Christ, man, don’t make it weird.”   
“Sorry,  _ Lou _ ,” he overemphasizes her name, and Lou rolls her eyes. “Thought you were reuniting with your long lost girlfriend today or something. Didn’t expect a call.”   
“Yeah, well, she left.”   
“Fuck, what’d you do?” Adrián asks. Lou hears a few bottles clink together in the background.   
“Not like  _ that _ ,” Lou says.   
“You don’t sound so sure,” he counters.   
“Look, you owe me a game. Are you in?” she says in a rush, hoping he’ll get the hint that Debbie is  _ not  _ a topic she wants to discuss. 

“Yeah,  _ yeah _ , of course,” he says enthusiastically. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.” There’s an over-excited edge to his tone, which Lou recognizes. It’s practically an offer, and as much as she’s tempted to drown her uncertainties in an easy fuck, she has the distinct impression that she would feel like shit about it in the morning. 

“It’s  _ just  _ a game tonight, alright?” she tells him. “Don’t get me wrong, we had a good time. But I’m...not available anymore.”

He used to own the club; but she won it from him two years after Debbie went to prison. He had a weakness for poker, and he was bitter at first, insisted that she cheated. After three re-matches that lost him another three thousand dollars, he finally admitted defeat and agreed to play for lower stakes. Strip poker was her idea, not his, but she wasn’t surprised he accepted. Every time she catches him trying not to pay his tab, they play a game. If he wins, she knocks a bottle of his total the next time. If she wins, he has to tip an extra ten percent. Either way, the sex is good. Well, it  _ was _ good. Good  _ for  _ her, too. Until Danny died and Lou couldn’t help but think of Debbie alone in her cell every night. Until missing her became a full-time job. Until sex with other people started to make her sad, because no matter who she was with, Debbie was always  _ there _ . 

Adrián arrives early, sweeping in with his usual swagger. He’s as flamboyant as she is - ink criss-crossing over his skin, hair gelled into spikes on top and cut into a starburst pattern at the back. His belt buckle depicts an entire scene from an old Western movie, complete with cacti, horses, and cowboys in profile. He’s never been West of Chicago, though, and she said she’d send him a postcard when she finally bikes the California coast. He sweeps her into a hug the moment she answers the door, kisses her on the cheek. She feels a blush rise. She might not want him like that anymore, but he makes her feel like herself, and that counts for something. 

“You look good.” She straightens his collar and grins. 

“You’re one to talk,” he shoots back. His eyes drop to her cleavage, and she slaps him playfully in the arm. 

The first three rounds end in her favor, and his shirt and shoes are folded carefully on the counter, along with the ridiculous bunny mask. He bought them for both of them a year ago, and it quickly became a tradition to wear them during games - always the first or last clothing item to be removed. Lou adjusts hers on the top of her head. Adrian is smiling easily, dealing the cards again, when Lou’s eyes fall on Debbie’s suitcase. All at once, it’s not so easy any more. The shapes and numbers blur, and when the round ends, she unbuttons her vest. She loses twice more before she admits she’s distracted. Debbie said she would be back later, that she was just going for a walk. A walk wouldn’t take this long, if it was just a walk.  _ It’s not just a walk.  _

“Earth to Lou,” Adrián says in a sing-song voice. “Are you in or out?” 

Lou starts. “Sorry. Uh...you know what, I fold. Let’s call it a draw.” She puts her cards down on the table. 

He furrows his brow. “You okay?” 

Lou shrugs, gives him a hard look. He knows about Debbie, knows how much she means to her. Knows better than to press her when she doesn’t want to talk. 

“Okay,” he nods. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Yeah.” She’s already pushing her chair back from the poker table. As she walks up the stairs, she hears him let himself into the downstairs bathroom. A moment later, she hears the front door open.  _ Debbie.  _

Lou flings her old plaid robe around her shoulders and ties it as she heads back towards the stairs, walking more quickly than she would like to admit. Debbie’s in the kitchen, her back turned towards the staircase and Lou. She seems preoccupied, and Lou smells Chinese food. She smiles indulgently. Yes, this is how it’s supposed to be. 

“Is that all for you?” she asks, sweeping down the stairs as Debbie turns towards the table. She’s already chewing. 

“Oh, hi! Want some?” 

“No.” But she takes a pair of chopsticks anyway, sits across from Debbie at the table. “It’s late,” she says, not looking at her. 

Debbie barely glances up from shoveling Kung Pao chicken into her mouth. “I took a walk.” 

“Where?” 

Debbie holds her gaze this time, eyebrows quirked, head tilted just enough to tell Lou all she needs to know. Debbie never could resist a power play. 

Lou sighs. “He saw you?” 

“ _ Oh _ , yeah.” 

“Why would you do something like that?” 

“Closure?” Debbie carefully places a piece of broccoli on her tongue. Lou is finding it hard not to watch the movement of her lips. 

“Bullshit.”

Somewhat to Lou’s surprise - for Debbie has never been forthcoming with her smaller moves in the game - Debbie slides something across the table. At first it just looks like a toothbrush, nondescript. The sharp edge isn’t apparent until she picks it up. She gasps, impressed in spite of herself, runs a thumb along the blade. 

“So did you…” She mimes a stabbing motion into her own neck, injecting some levity because she wouldn’t blame Debbie for doing it, not one bit. Most mosquitoes were worth more than Claude Becker, as far as she was concerned. Still, her heart is beating high in her throat because Debbie’s never killed before, and Adrián is in the bathroom and this  _ really  _ isn’t a conversation that he needs to hear. 

Debbie slides something else across the table: a tiny mother-of-pearl button. “Just a little button,” she says. The tension breaks; Lou’s heart rate slows, only to rise again because Debbie is smiling at her and Lou is smiling back. And it’s the first time they’ve laughed together in six fucking years. 

“Hey, Adrián?” she calls. She hears him shuffle out of the bathroom behind her. “You gotta go.” Debbie glances over Lou’s shoulder, looking confused for a moment before turning her attention back to her plate. 

“I can wait, if you -” 

“That’s okay,” Lou tells him, though she appreciates the gesture of support. He’s always been there when she needs to talk. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Seriously, I can…” 

“ _ Seriously _ . Go.” Lou turns to look at him, raises her eyebrows and nods in the direction of his shirt and shoes, still folded on the counter. He grins, eyes twinkling suggestively at her. She shakes her head and turns back to Debbie, silently begging her not to say anything. She doesn’t. Her eyes search Lou’s face for a moment, then they drop to Lou’s cleavage, and Lou feels heat creep up her neck. After a few seconds of staring, as Debbie makes her deductions and holds a piece of baby corn suspended over her plate, she shrugs and returns to her meal. Lou’s not worried; Debbie will see every detail of the situation, probably already knows everything important about Adrián from the way he folds his jeans and his brand of hair gel. Lou reaches for a carton of orange chicken, suddenly ravenous. Her world feels full for the first time in six years. 

**

Across the table, Debbie keeps eating, but the food seems blander now. It sticks to the roof of her mouth, and she gulps down a glass of water before turning her attention to an eggroll. 

_ She’s seeing someone. _

Debbie holds her chopsticks very tightly to keep her hand from shaking, watches Lou dig through the carton of orange chicken. It’s Lou’s favorite, at least it used to be. Had she really been out so long, spent so much time intimidating Claude, that Lou had thought that she had time to fuck some guy before Debbie came home? Had she assumed that Debbie would be out all night? If Debbie had come home sooner, what would she have found? But then, it’s not the difference between an hour or three that really matters. It’s the fact that Debbie was gone for six  _ years _ . She never assumed that Lou would stay celibate, would have been surprised if she had. All the same, she assumed that most things had stayed the same: Lou’s hair. Lou’s half-designer, half-consignment style. Lou’s feelings for her. Lou’s  _ love _ . 

Because Debbie loves her. It feels impossible, but she’s pretty sure she loves Lou even more than she did six years ago. Loves her so much she could cry into the last few bites on her plate. 

_ She’s seeing someone.  _

It takes everything Debbie has to make it through dinner. On top of everything, she’s exhausted. Her bones feel heavy. 

“Hey,” Lou says, leans against the refrigerator, drying dishes that Debbie has washed. Falling into these domestic routines is easy,  _ too  _ easy. 

Debbie pulls herself back to the present and to Lou’s bright blue eyes. “Hey.” 

“I can see you nodding off.” 

Debbie smiles, rinses the last plate and hands it to Lou. She drains the sink, looks back at Lou. “It’s a lot to take in,” she admits. 

Lou nods pensively. “You know, if you ever need to talk about it, I--”

“I know.” 

Debbie follows her upstairs, gratefully accepts the bedroom Lou offers. She brushes her teeth, changes into pajamas that she didn’t even remember owning. The fabric feels strange against her skin, and she undresses once more, opting for an old T-shirt in the back of the closet that still smells like a weird combination of Tom Ford Tobacco and Chanel No. 5 -  _ us _ , she thinks,  _ it smells like us.  _ The mattress is perfect, the sheets crisp and smooth. Debbie tries to convince herself that after so many years spent surrounded by people - guards, inmates, shadows - she would want to sleep alone tonight regardless of Lou’s situation. She would want the space to spread out, the quiet, the peace. 

She’s still trying to convince herself when she falls asleep. 


	5. [7 plus $20,000]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou sinks down on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hands. 
> 
> It’s been a month now. A month of dancing around each other, of glances across the room that echo familiarity. 
> 
> But Lou can’t remember what she feels like anymore, can’t remember her taste, or the way her body used to move against her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! 
> 
> I'm back from a wonderful vacation! As always, thanks to all of you who have left kudos and comments. 
> 
> As many of you guessed, I (hope) wrote the last chapter! You all really have our styles down, and we love seeing your guesses (along with all other comments)! 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

She should have remembered that the F-Train is always shit at this time of day, but she hadn’t, and now she’s wedged in the middle of the rattling train car between hordes of commuters, trying to remember to breathe. 

_ Inhale for four heartbeats, hold for two, exhale for eight. Inhale four; hold two; exhale eight.  _

She doesn’t know where she is down here, deep under the streets she knows so well. It’s a different world - a parallel one.  _ More like the underworld. Some kind of hell.  _ She takes a deep breath and feels her sweat seep into the half-dozen stolen pashminas in her hand.  _ Inhale. Hold. Exhale.  _

Lou offered to come along, but Debbie had sent her on a mission to find a hacker instead. She wishes Lou was there, now. It would be easier to breathe if she could lean into Lou’s leather jacket, bury her face in her neck. Her necklaces always used to cut into her cheek if she stayed like that too long, but Debbie never cared, wouldn’t care now, either.  _ If Lou were here. _

But it’s no use agonizing over it because she  _ isn’t _ . She’s back at the loft, probably. And even though she’s there, on the other end of this train ride, there still seems to be a part of her that’s distant, that isn’t quite  _ Debbie’s  _ any more. Debbie thinks about Adrián, wonders if Lou has seen him again in the week since her release. She doesn’t think so, but she can’t be sure, because she doesn’t  _ know  _ her anymore.

And down here - where the streets disappear and everyone’s lost in the endless tunnels, always searching for the way out - Debbie doesn’t know herself, either. 

“I’m never taking the F Train again.” She storms into the loft, tosses the pashminas aside. There’s hurt and panic bubbling in her chest, and somehow it’s all Lou’s fault that she was stuck on the stupid F Train by herself when Lou knows -  _ knew _ \- she hates trains. Lou should have been there, should have known to come, and -

Debbie stops short because Lou’s not alone. No, Lou’s lounging on the fainting couch in the corner by the kitchen, leaning over the shoulder of a young woman with long dreadlocks, an army jacket, and a laptop. Lou’s close to her,  _ too  _ close. For a split second the anger bubbles up in Debbie’s chest, and then it’s gone, replaced by blankness. 

“This what you talkin’ ‘bout? Bunch of vases?” 

“Yeah, that’s the Egyptian wing,” Lou says. 

“She’s in the Met.” Debbie’s impressed enough to be curious. 

“Security cameras.” Lou looks at her, holds her gaze and smiles. It shouldn’t be possible for the nothingness inside her to ache, but it does. Debbie pushes the ache away. 

“My name’s Debbie.” 

The young woman smiles. “Nine Ball.” 

“What’s your real name?” 

“Eight Ball.” 

Impressed she might be, but Debbie is liking the young woman less and less. “We use real names around here,” she tells her. It’s not helping that Lou is still sitting  _ just  _ behind her. Debbie’s quite sure that Lou’s knee has tapped against the woman’s back once or twice.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Lou hops up from the couch and steps around Nine Ball’s laptop, graceful as ever. The movement breaks Debbie out of her paralysis, and she allows Lou to steer her into the kitchen.

“I asked you to get me a hacker.” Debbie hates the whine in her own voice, but she doesn’t care enough to change it right now. 

“She’s one of the best hackers on the East Coast.”

“Oh, I’m honored.”

“She has other clients. They don’t know her real name either.” 

“I’m sorry, other clients?” But she makes the mistake of looking at Lou, and she’s close,  _ so  _ close she could lean in and -

Lou’s eyes are following the movements of Debbie’s lips, and Debbie can’t care too much about the conversation anymore. Lou’s warm, and Debbie has felt clammy since the ride on the F Train and the walk from the station in the late-March wind. She remembers the way she felt on the train, wanting nothing more than to lean into  _ her _ .

It’s too much. Debbie looks around the corner at Nine Ball, watches her light up a joint. 

“She’s smoking,” she mutters to Lou, as if that had ever once mattered to her. 

Lou snaps her gum, unimpressed. 

Debbie gives up, folds her arms, and slips out from between Lou and the wall to stand before Nine Ball and welcome her aboard as best she can with a sudden loud ringing in her ears. She needs to get out of here, needs to be alone, without Lou breathing down her neck;or breathing soft against her cheek, her mouth,  _ Fuck _ . She needs to get away from Nine Ball, too. She’s smart, Debbie can see that, and she’s reminding her of just how much she missed in prison - what the hell is a  _ footprint _ , anyway?

“Clean that up,” she tells her, and then she walks away.

She can feel Lou’s eyes on the back of her head, but she doesn’t want to look around in case Lou has slid back into place at Nine Ball’s side. She couldn’t bear that. She forces herself not to run, closes the door to her bedroom silently behind her, and claps a hand to her mouth to muffle the sob that rakes along the back of her throat. 

She hates crying.

**

Lou looks across the poker table. 

“What about Tammy?” 

And Debbie’s stomach sank right down to her toes because it was the same question Lou had asked all those years ago in that hotel the night everything began. But this time, Lou’s eyes were twinkling. And maybe Lou’s right; maybe this would all be easier if Debbie loved Tammy. 

**

Perhaps Debbie misjudged her. Perhaps it isn’t that Lou’s seeing Adrián or flirting with Nine Ball. It’s not the fact that Lou’s been with other people,  _ is currently  _ with other people. Perhaps it’s the one thing that Debbie can’t fathom. It’s that she’s not  _ with _ Debbie. 

She doesn’t love Deborah Ocean anymore.

Debbie awakes to the realization, and it doesn’t make her feel better, but it does make her focus. She’s tired already.  _ So  _ tired. All she can do is focus on the job, and the job needs Lou, needs Debbie, needs Tammy. She gets dressed, doesn’t even realize what she’s put on until she’s standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. Straight-leg black pants, a black silk dress shirt tucked in - this outfit is for Lou and she didn’t even realize. It’s too late to change now; she wants to get to Tammy’s by lunchtime, and it’ll take a couple hours to get up to White Plains on the train. She buckles Danny’s watch onto her wrist and heads downstairs. 

There’s breakfast on the kitchen island - eggs, toast, bacon. And Debbie can’t resist, even though Lou’s kindness is almost more painful than the memory of Lou leaning against Nine Ball, of Lou in black lingerie with a half-naked man and their goddamn matching bunny masks. Lou might not love her, but Lou still cares enough to make her breakfast. 

“So, you’re seeing Tammy today?” 

Debbie nods with her mouth full of eggs, doesn’t look up from her plate. 

“It’s not gonna be easy to convince her.” Lou drums her fingers on the countertop. Debbie watches the light bounce off her rings. 

She swallows. “You could go instead,” she suggests. 

“Nah.” Lou shakes her head. “Tammy will only say yes to you.” 

Her eyes twinkle again, and Debbie doesn’t argue. She’s too tired to argue.

Today Debbie closes her eyes on the train and wills herself into a kind of stupor. At least it’s not crowded this time. She still misses the smell of Lou and her leather jacket, but this time it’s more like an ache than a burn.  _ Time to move on _ . 

Tammy looks good in her brown sweater and neatly-pressed white shirt with black polka-dots. Her make-up and hair are as immaculate as ever, and Debbie wonders how she maintains it as the sounds of her kids playing in the house drift into the garage. Debbie makes sure that Tammy sees her eyes drift over her, lingering intentionally on her hips and then her breasts. She trails her fingers over the handles of the bikes, echoing the way she used to trace Tammy’s curves all those years ago when watching Tammy fall apart stoked a fire in Debbie’s blood, if not in her heart. 

“Just wanted to reconnect,” Debbie says with a shrug. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mm hmm.” 

“Reconnect?” Tammy’s voice drops a little. She takes a step back. 

Debbie takes her chance and steps forward, carefully wrapping her lips around the bright red lollipop. It’s cherry, and she  _ hates _ cherry, but she knows Tammy likes it. And the way Tammy’s eyes follow every movement of her mouth tells her that she wants to taste the flavor on her tongue. A thrill of power runs through Debbie. 

“You’re not bored out here, are you, Tam-Tam?”

“No, I’m not bored out here at all.” But the way she’s fiddling with the wedding set on her left hand tells a different story, as does the flush in her cheeks. “Why would you ask that?” 

“Because I need a fence.” 

She stays close to her, leans in enough to smell her flowery perfume as she tells her the take - rounds up because she  _ knows _ Tammy, knows exactly how much it’ll take to break her resolve, as though having Debbie close to her like this wasn’t enough already. Tammy exhales, gazes into Debbie’s eyes. Then -

“Mommy, when’s lunch ready?” 

“Shit.” Tammy pulls her to the side. Debbie keeps watching her, the way she leans towards her daughter, her well-practiced tone. Tammy is made for this as much as she’s made for fencing, and for a moment, Debbie doubts herself. But then Tammy leans back next to her against the boxes, and she stays close, closer than is strictly necessary, watches Debbie’s fingers twiddling the lollipop. 

“How do you explain all this to your husband?” 

“EBay.” 

Debbie nods.  _ He doesn’t know her, not  _ really _.  _ She turns, faces her. “And you’re sure you’re not bored out here?” 

Tammy’s eyes dart nervously. “I’m happy...out here.” 

Debbie leans closer. “What about in here?” She reaches out and brushes the backs of her fingers across the front of Tammy’s sweater, over her heart. “How do you feel inside?” Tammy’s eyelids flutter. Her breath hitches. “When you lie awake at night. Does he snore?” 

“No.” Tammy’s answer is breathy and sharp. 

Debbie leans closer, lets her breath shift the carefully placed hairs around Tammy’s ear. 

Tammy shivers. “A little.” 

Debbie steps in front of her, steps close enough to kiss her. She waits, slowly drags the lollipop between her lips once more. Tammy watches her with heavy-lidded eyes. 

“You can start again. You can do  _ anything you want _ ,” Debbie murmurs, holds the lollipop between them like an invitation. “You were the best, Tam-Tam. The best I’ve ever -” 

Debbie pauses, wants to continue down this road because it’s  _ working _ , but suddenly she can see Lou’s eyes where Tammy’s should be, and she can’t quite wrap her tongue around the lie. Because Lou is - will always be - the best she’s ever had. She blinks, holds Tammy’s gaze.

“- worked with,” she finishes. It’s still a lie, but it’s a smaller one. It doesn’t hurt as much. 

Tammy’s tongue darts out, moistens her lips. 

“No one else can do what you do.” And that, at least, is true. Debbie has never met a better fence. The piles of SodaStreams and Vitamixes prove that. She leans forward one last time, tilts her head just a little, just  _ enough _ . 

Tammy leans in faster than Debbie expects, takes her by surprise because there’s not a hint of tenderness in Tammy’s kiss, just pent up frustration that shows Debbie nothing but the conflict in her heart. She loves the game as much as Debbie does; she also loves her family, more than Debbie can understand. Debbie returns the kiss for a second, but then it’s over and Tammy’s expression is inscrutable. 

Debbie waits, keeps her face impassive so as not to display her doubt. And at last: 

“Fine,” Tammy says. She glances away from her and back again, gives her a hard look. “I’m in.”

**

After so many years on her own, besides occasional visits from Adrián, it’s strange to have the loft full of people. Lou can’t remember being part of an odder group, except for those years working with Danny. But she’s pleased with their choices, and having people around means she’s busy, and busy means she can keep her mind off of Debbie and falling asleep alone every night. She wonders if Debbie is doing the same, tries to ignore the way Tammy’s eyes follow Debbie around the room, just like they did years ago. If she knocked on Tammy’s door in the middle of the night, would she find the bed neatly made, untouched? 

She should have asked Debbie the very first night, told her that she still wanted her, still  _ loved  _ her, because now they’re in too deep and neither of them can afford the distraction of rejection. Lou feels it anyway, though. Feels it when Debbie’s hand slides over the zirconium and onto the inside of Tammy’s wrist. Lou watches them talk, standing too close. Debbie is hard to read at the best of times, but Lou had always known what she was thinking. 

Not anymore. 

“I like it.” The words drift over to Lou, and her heart almost breaks at the gentle smile playing around Debbie’s mouth. That smile should be for  _ her _ , not for Tammy. 

But maybe things have changed. Maybe  _ Debbie  _ has changed. After all the shit with Claude Becker, after prison, no one could blame her for wanting something different this time around. And Tammy had always wanted the simple life - low risk, domestic, and boring as hell. Lou couldn’t give her that, but maybe Debbie was finding comfort in it, now. Lou shivered, trying not to picture Tammy slipping into Debbie’s bed, into her arms, in the middle of the night. The images plague her, and everytime she sees Tammy touch Debbie’s shoulder, everytime she notices Debbie casually tuck a strand of Tammy’s hair back into place, the hurt inside her grows. She feels it in every muscle. She has no right to Debbie, she knows that, but doesn’t she have a right to an explanation? How had they fallen so far from each other? 

Lou keeps half an eye on Nine Ball’s computer screen, half an eye on Tammy and Debbie as Rose struggles to scan the necklace at Cartier. The Toussaint is astounding - Lou’s never seen so many diamonds in one place and she can’t prevent the hint of a grin. It’s wiped away a second later by the sight of Debbie wrapping her fingers around the hand that Tammy has resting on her shoulder. Lou tears her eyes away, back to the necklace on the screen. The numbers count up, up, up, but the excitement doesn’t build anymore. She feels nothing. The computer blinks “Scan Complete” in big red letters, and she exhales a sigh of relief in chorus with the others before she walks away. 

Her room. The one place Debbie hasn’t touched yet. Lou sinks down on the edge of the bed and puts her head in her hands. It’s been a month now. A month of dancing around each other, of glances across the room that echo familiarity. But Lou can’t remember what she feels like anymore, can’t remember her taste, or the way her body used to move against her own. She almost could at first. In those few days when it was just the two of them before they tracked down Rose, they had circled towards each other. But now, Lou can’t feel her anymore. 

**

_ “Look, I have run this thing a thousand times and every time I got caught, I fixed it. After three years, I wasn’t getting caught anymore. By the time I was paroled it was running like clockwork. Perfectly.” Debbie pauses to smile and twirl a piece of pancake on her fork. “And you were there with me. Every step of the way.”  _

_ “Oh, honey, is this a proposal?”  _

_ “Baby, I don’t have a diamond yet.”  _

_ Her eyes are sparkling and Lou believes that maybe she will have a diamond, one day. Not the big, blingy, Liz Taylor diamonds that Debbie wants to steal. No, those will be broken down into cold, hard cash one way or another.  _

_ But maybe one day, she’ll have one for Lou.  _

**

Lou digs the heels of her hands into her eyes and then drops her arms to her sides. Debbie never promised her anything besides the take from this job, never promised to love her forever. But Lou had made that promise to herself, and she would have to learn to live with that. She reaches for her acoustic guitar, always in reach in a stand by the chair in front of the window.  __

_ Could you whisper in my ear _

_ The things you wanna feel  _

She plucks a few bars of the line and then stops to tune, her mind going blissfully blank as she turns the pegs. She strums a few chords before starting from the top, playing with the opening bars until they’re  _ right _ because something has to be. The window’s cracked and the room is cold, but the breeze breathes life into the melody. 

_ Could you whisper in my ear  _

_ The things you wanna feel  _

_ I’d give you anythin’ _

_ To feel it comin’ _

_ Do you wake up on your own _

_ And wonder where you are? _

_ You live with all your faults _

Lou hears the words in her head as her fingers move across the strings. She takes a deep breath. 

“I wanna wake up where you are

I won’t say anything at all...”

The words come out cracked because there’s too much emotion built up in her chest, her throat. She glances up, blinking rapidly. Keeps playing even though her fingers stumble. 

And then she sees it. Hanging next to the window is her orange Gretsch Electromatic. It’s vintage, and Debbie bought it for her on the first big payout from Claude. It was pristine and hardly touched because Lou was scared she’d break it at first, and then Debbie went to prison and touching the instrument felt too much like touching  _ her _ . Lou’s fingers miss one too many notes on the too-old strings, and she stops. 

There’s silence but for the faint sound of birds outside the window, the distance chatter of the others downstairs, and the beating of her heart. 

And then she crumples, folds over herself and the guitar. She’s held the tears at bay for weeks, but now they flow hot and fast. And she shakes, pushing all the hurt inside her to the surface of her skin. Her throat is raw and her cheeks are sticky by the time it stops as suddenly as it started. Lou sets the guitar back on its stand, pushes the lyrics out of her mind. She lies down on her back and stares blankly at the ceiling. For a long time, all she can hear are the birds. 

All she wants is Debbie. 

**

There’s a knock on the door, and Lou opens her eyes. She doesn’t remember falling asleep. She rubs a hand across her face, and it comes away smeared with mascara. Her eyes are dry and aching, her limbs heavy. She drags herself to her feet and trudges to the bathroom, splashes water on her face and tries to salvage her make-up. There’s another knock on the door. 

“Lou?” 

Lou groans. She doesn’t want to talk to her. Well, she  _ does _ , but not like this. 

“ _ Lou? _ ” Debbie knocks again. 

“Come in,” Lou calls, trying to make her voice as cheery as possible.

“Hey,” Debbie says, as she closes the door behind her. 

“Hey.” Lou emerges from the bathroom, watches Debbie take in the room, eyes lingering on the array of shiny necklace holders on the dresser. Lou’s quite sure she doesn’t notice the orange guitar. Debbie’s eyes dart onto her and she smiles. 

“It’s nice in here.” 

“Yeah. Uh -” 

“You okay?” Debbie asks. She takes a step towards her, frowning. “You look like you’ve been -”

“-’m just tired.” She fakes a yawn. 

Debbie narrows her eyes. “This is your last week working the club and the job, right?” 

Lou pinches her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger and twists just enough for it to hurt. “What? Oh! Yeah. Last day is tomorrow. Adrián’s stepping in to keep things running, and I swear to God if he doesn’t give the place back to me when this is over, I’ll -” 

“I’m just glad you’ll be able to get some sleep,” Debbie says, cutting across her. She’s fidgeting with Danny’s watch. 

“Are  _ you  _ okay, Debs?” Lou asks quietly. 

Debbie looks up. “Yeah, of course. Rose and Amita just got back. The Toussaint is a go, and we’re going to print the replica. I thought you’d want to see it, so I -” She trails off and bites her lip. 

Lou stares at her for a beat, waits. But Debbie doesn’t seem to be planning on saying anything else, so Lou nods and follows her out of the room and down the stairs. Everyone’s gathered around the 3D printer, even Rose who looks a little shaky after her ordeal at Cartier. Lou pats her shoulder as she and Debbie join the group. She tries not to look at any of them. The last thing she needs is Constance noticing the tear streaks that she’s sure are still visible if you look close enough. Fortunately, everyone’s eyes are fixed on the gradually expanding piece of zirconium inside the 3D printer. 

Tammy squeezes between Lou and Rose, standing on her tiptoes to peer over Debbie’s shoulder. Lou watches - in slow motion - as Tammy’s fingers graze against the small of Debbie’s back and around to her hip. Lou grits her teeth and folds her arms over her chest. As the printer completes a final pass over the necklace now lying before them, Lou steps close behind Debbie, cutting off Tammy’s access and bringing her hips flush against Debbie’s.

Lou hears Debbie’s breath hitch, and she wants nothing more than to touch her for real, to have her hands on her - gripping her hips, reaching around to stroke her stomach and cup her breasts. Debbie presses back into her just a little as she bends over to retrieve the necklace, and Lou has to bite her tongue to keep from making a sound. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Tammy step aside. A tingling sensation starts at the base of Lou’s spine and spreads up her spine - triumph. But a second later it turns to nausea. She has no business claiming her, no business touching her. She steps back as Debbie turns around. Their eyes meet for a second. 

Debbie’s eyes are brighter than usual, and Lou watches her swallow hard. She holds Lou’s gaze for an extra beat, searching her face. Hope stirs in Lou’s chest. And Debbie will reach for her now, won’t she? Kiss her on the cheek, perhaps, like she did on her very first day out of prison? Just a brief, celebratory acknowledgement that they’re in this together. 

“So, we got it, then?” Rose says. 

The moment dies and Debbie drops her gaze, makes room for Constance pushing between her and Lou to hold up the zirconium for everyone to see. 

  
  


**

“This party is  _ nuts _ ,” Tammy says, barging into the loft. 

Lou’s tinkering with her bike, but she - along with everyone else - turns to watch as Tammy stalks to the middle of the room and throws herself across the couch. 

“I’m not kidding,” she continues. “If Anna thinks your dress is ugly - you can’t wear it. No shit. She will bar your wardrobe. Can I have a sip of that?” She gestures to Constance’s water bottle. 

“Sure.”

Tammy takes a long swig before wiping her mouth on her sleeve and sighing. “Last year she got in a fight with one of the designers two days before the event, and no one was allowed to wear his clothes! For real. Black-balled.” She reaches for a bag of chips and pops it open. Rose jumps at the sound, but Tammy ignores her and shoves three chips into her mouth. “Sorry, I haven’t eaten all day,” she says in a muffled tone. She swallows. “Tables cost a quarter million dollars - that is, if she decides to let you buy one. Not any $250,000 check is accepted, they literally have to approve your money!”

Lou grins. Yes, the Gala is insane. They knew that. It’s part of the reason she’s here, and it feels nice to know something Tammy doesn’t. She goes back to adjusting one of the bolts on the steering mechanism, but then notices movement across the room. Debbie strides towards Tammy and squeezes beside her on the couch, offers her the water bottle as Tammy sets down the empty bag of chips. She smiles sympathetically at Tammy, and then glances across to Lou. Lou narrows her eyes and then shrugs. Perhaps Debbie is as surprised as she is that Tammy hadn’t understood the triviality of the Met before now. Debbie returns her attention to Tammy, sighs, and then… Lou watches her thumb swipe across Tammy’s lower lip, removing a chip crumb. It’s the most casual gesture in the world - here and gone as though Debbie does it every day. 

But Lou is suddenly dizzy as if all the blood has rushed from her head. She looks away, forces her brain to focus on the bike,  _ only  _ on the bike. 

**

“Go easy on her, Debs,” Lou teases after Tammy has retreated for a nap, which seemed to have been everyone else’s cue to do the same. “You know she’s in love with you.” It’s cruel, and Lou knows it. They’re alone for the first time in days, just the two of them leaning over the paper model of the museum. 

“She  _ was _ ,” Debbie replies shortly. “Years ago.” 

“Oh, come on, you see the way she looks at you.” 

“Stop. Let’s just focus on this, alright?” 

“Fine. Do you know where Claude is going to be yet?” 

**

_ He was always their first choice for a mark. Lou knew he was bad news, had known it for years before she even met Debbie. When Debbie teamed up with him, Lou had cautioned against it, but neither of them thought he would be smart enough to cause any real damage. They were wrong. Debbie went to prison; Lou, at Debbie’s insistence, used the money to secure the club. Claude Becker had made no more than a dent in the surface of the art world, but his bank accounts told otherwise. He shelled out the requisite $250,000 per year to attend the Met Gala, accompanied - usually - by a girl he picked up at one of his art shows. He put himself out there, and that was just how they would take him down. He was a background player, not a suspect unless you looked closely enough. That was how the job worked, Debbie told Lou.  _

**

A week before the Gala, Lou sees his name next to Daphne Kluger’s on the seating chart. Her body reacts before her brain can catch up - fists clenching, heart racing. He was never supposed to be that close,  _ never _ . How could Debbie fail to plan for this contingency? But all at once, Lou knows she  _ did  _ plan for it, she always meant to pull the job right under his nose. It was Lou that was in the dark. 

Anger, this time. Not hurt. And  _ of course _ , Debbie isn’t in the house. She would know how Lou would react. She knew  _ everything _ . 

Lou’s out the door and striding across the road before she can stop herself. And all she can think is that she never thought that it would end like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what we're imagining for Lou's guitar: https://www.long-mcquade.com/154884/Guitars/Hollow-body-Electric-Guitars/Gretsch-Guitars/G5420TG-Limited-Edition-Electromatic--50s-Hollow-Body-Single-Cut-with-Bigsby-and-Gold-Hardware.htm?gclid=CjwKCAjwsO_4BRBBEiwAyagRTW3BDKxG1geTfC2uCgJc5pVl8XJguuYi6PIBo18zgj61FTk0qkeX1RoCPkIQAvD_BwE


	6. [1 equals $500,000]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She learned to bear the evenings with him only because of the promise of the nights with her.  
> “There’s just one more piece to go, baby. I can do this...One signature, half a million dollars.”  
> “Don’t do it, honey. Don’t trust him.”  
> “Who says I trust him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 5 was written by Hope :) You all are pretty good at guessing! 
> 
> This one gets heavy, friends. Claude is even slimier in the original script than in the film, and we adjusted accordingly. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: for mentioned potential rape and/or dubious consent. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

The Lucky Strike tastes like her;    
the way she used to taste;    
the way she remembers her tasting;    
_ then _ .

It tastes the way Lou tasted under the cheap scotch she would always drink when a job went off and they were half-drunk off that and half off the liquor and she would lick into Debbie’s mouth and then lick her way down her body, too. 

They were harder to get now - the cigarettes. Though that could have happened long before Debbie went to prison. It was usually Lou that picked them up, afterall. But she picked them up this time, and brought one with her, out to the solitude of the beach outside the loft. Out to the quiet to light up and wait for Lou to join her. 

This was a moment for them and the smoke was a tribute, of sorts.

Because Lou always has loved spectacle, and this, this would be what they’ve waited their entire career for. Pulling the rug right out from under the entire thing and tangling it around revenge before anybody even had the chance to blink. 

Debbie hears the back door to the loft creak open and inhales deep; startles when she hears it slam followed by the telltale stomp of Lou’s boots and her voice over the sounds of boat horns in the harbour. “Hey! We need to talk.”

Debbie puts the cigarette out under her heel.

“You better tell me this is not what I think it is -”

Debbie smirks, waits for Lou to mirror her and remind her how  _ irritating _ she is.

“ _ -Claude Becker. _ ” Lou spits the name. That’s normal, though. Sort of. Most of the time she avoids saying it at all, referring to him in loose terms that Debbie manages to pick up.

“I didn’t do that.” Debbie’s lips curl a little deeper.  _ She didn’t have to do that _ , is what she means. Didn’t have to set a trap and barely even had to lay-out any real bait to have him exactly where they wanted him.

“I’m not a croupier, okay? Or a tourist with a bucket of quarters. Don’t con  _ me  _ -” And that gets Debbie’s attention all at once. Because Lou  _ knew _ . Lou knew  _ all along _ who their mark was even if they didn’t tell the rest of the team. “- you do not run a  _ job _ in a job.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Debbie tilts her head at Lou and tries to see  _ through  _ her skull and into her mind. Tries to figure out the train of thought that brought them to here. Why they’re  _ here _ at all. 

“We are going to get caught.”

“Stop. We’re not.”

Debbie clenches her jaw when Lou turns away and huffs and turns back. “Why do you do this?” She doesn’t understand Lou’s question - very literally. Very literally does not understand why Lou is behaving as though this was all a surprise.  _ They talked about it _ . In vague terms; loose terms; always those. But they talked. “Why can’t you just do a job - why does there always have to be an asterisk?”

Debbie shrugs. There’s always an asterisk because she’s an Ocean. And it’s what she’s good at. And it was why Tammy didn’t want  _ Deborah Ocean _ and maybe now it’s why Lou doesn’t want her anymore, either. 

“You frame him, I walk.”

Lou looks serious; Debbie’s had enough. Lou doesn’t have to  _ want _ her anymore. Doesn’t have to want  _ Deborah Ocean _ in her bed or her personal life. But she doesn’t get to pretend it’s a surprise, either.

“Stop.”

“This is just like the last time.”

Debbie could swear there’s a hint of a shine to Lou’s eye when she turns away and doesn’t turn back this time, and it doesn’t matter if she's angry or not, Debbie would follow Lou anywhere.

“Lou -” She’d follow her anywhere Lou led, even though the roles were usually the opposite of that, if she asked. “Lou -  _ Lou _ .” Debbie managed to find Lou’s eyes again and there’s something Lou isn’t telling her. She can tell. Lou might even be able to tell that she can tell. Something other than who she’s sleeping with, or not. Something she can’t guess no matter how hard she looks at her. “- he sent me to  _ jail _ . You have no idea what that’s like.”

She doesn’t begrudge Lou not knowing what it’s like. Is glad that she doesn’t, truth be told. Doesn’t revel in the fact that she  _ does  _ know. But there’s still something Lou knows that Debbie doesn’t and that goes against every rule they’ve ever had. They don’t keep secrets - not when it comes to jobs. Small changes to details, maybe. But even then, not for long.

“Yeah, well -” Lou finally looks at Debbie again when she speaks this time. Somehow looks more sad than Debbie’s thinks she’s ever seen her look. “- he’s gonna do it again.”

“No he’s not. He’s not.”

**

_ “We don’t  _ need _ something bigger,” said Lou. _

_ “I do. I need it,” said Debbie.  _

_ And that was how it all started, ten years ago on a riverboat - well, not  _ quite  _ a riverboat but it did float. _

_ “Danny gave me a name,” Debbie said a few months later, plopping down in the chair across from Lou at the worn kitchen table.  _

_ Lou looked up from her book, confused. She had thought Debbie had given up on  _ bigger _ , but the way Debbie was smiling said otherwise. She carefully folded her reading glasses and surveyed Debbie across the table. Debbie met her gaze for a second before she passed a piece of paper across to Lou.  _

_ “Claude Becker,” Debbie said. “He’s a real up-and-comer in the art world, and Danny’s proven just how much money can be made in  _ art.” 

_ “No,” Lou said at once. She didn’t glance down at the name on the paper. She didn’t need to. She knew everything she needed to know about that man, that  _ snake _. “Hang on, you said  _ Danny _ gave you that name?” Lou asked, astounded.  _

_ Debbie nodded, her smile faltering just slightly. “Yeah. He said he can be difficult but that it was nothing I couldn’t handle.”  _

_ Lou ran her fingers through her hair. “He has no  _ fucking  _ idea.” She almost laughed. But of course, Danny  _ hadn’t  _ known. She had never told anyone about just how bad Claude could be.  _

_ “Yeah, well, Danny said he’s really improved,” Debbie insisted. “His takes are five times what we make in an Atlantic City summer. And to be honest, I’d do anything to get out of this place.” Debbie gestured at the steadily dripping faucet, the sputtering radiator, the cracked paint.  _

_ Lou gave her a hard look. “Anything?” she asked.  _

_ Debbie shrugged. “Within reason.” She glanced down at her hands. “Why? What does he--?”  _

_ “Sex,” Lou told her bluntly.  _

_ Debbie only looked surprised for a split second, then she sighed. Her gaze softened. “You know I love you, baby,” she said. _

_ “Yeah, of course.”  _

_ “Then it’s just sex.”  _

_ “Debs…”  _

_ Debbie got up and walked around the table to the back of Lou’s chair. She wrapped her arms around Lou’s neck and nuzzled her hair. Lou took a deep breath of her Chanel No. 5.  _

_ “I don’t like it,” Lou said quietly.  _

_ “I want you to have your club, baby,” Debbie murmured, lips brushing the sensitive skin under Lou’s ear. “Your guitar, your bike, your trip to California. So what if I have to fuck him?”  _

_ Lou smiled in spite of herself. She wanted that future so much that it ached. “You’ll come home to me, right?” Lou asked in a small voice.  _

_ “Every night, baby,” Debbie promised, pressed kisses into Lou’s hair. “Every night.”  _

_ ** _

_ It wasn’t too bad at first, Debbie thought. Claude could have been worse. It was a simple, elegant hustle, and it paid well. After six months, she and Lou moved into a larger apartment with an actual bedroom and many fewer cockroaches. Three months later, she and Claude made a hundred grand in a single evening. He didn’t even ask her to stay for dinner, just gave her the cash and told her the date of the next showing. Debbie made a detour to a hole-in-the-wall music store in Queens on the way home and bought Lou a vintage Gretsch Electromatic - orange, complete with new strings and a leather case. If Debbie could have branded Lou’s expression when she saw the guitar to the insides of her eyelids, she would have - eyes wide, jaw slack in surprise. At least it was fresh in her mind when things with Claude began to change.  _

_ A little over a year after meeting him, Claude’s requests became more suggestive. He wanted her to wear specific dresses, plied her with expensive jewelry that was never quite her style. Then came the lingerie, and Debbie knew what was coming. She braced herself, tried to see past his slicked-back hair and his over-manicured fingernails, but she didn’t  _ want  _ him. She never would.  _

_ “It’s a big job,” he told her, leaning back in his seat at Cipriani and swirling a glass of sherry. She knew him well enough to sense his excitement even as he scratched his ear, trying to appear nonchalant.  _

_ “Yeah? How much?”  _

_ “Well, there’re a few things we’d have to set in order. Might take a while, but when it comes down to it - one signature. Half a million dollars.”  _

_ But she knew it was more than just a signature, knew by the way his eyes twinkled at her, eying the low neckline of her dress. If she refused, she had a feeling her steady flow of income would cease abruptly. And she  _ needed  _ that money, needed it because Lou was saving for a deposit on a club. Lou always deserved better than what Debbie could give her, certainly deserved better than the scathing looks from Debbie’s parents during their surprise visit last week, than the half-whispered comments about how Debbie was holed up with the girl who had flaked out on Danny. For Lou, she would do anything.  _

_ “What do I have to do?” she asked.  _

_ Claude smiled and licked his lips. _

_ Back at his apartment, Debbie closed her eyes and thought of Lou, tried to ignore the way he pulled at her body to suit his desires. It seemed to go on for hours. He tasted like sherry, which she had always hated, and she thought she might choke to death on the odor of his cologne.  _

_ “It’s not really a forgery because we’re not copying any known painting. It’s previously undiscovered work,” he said breathlessly when he finally rolled off her.  _

_ “Gotcha.” Her mind felt foggy after spending so much time trying to be elsewhere.  _

_ “I can’t sign the provenance because they know me,” he said, “but…” _

_ “It’s still fraud.” She turned over and reached for her discarded clothing.  _

_ “That’s not clear.”  _

_ She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll be in touch.”  _

_ It took three stops on the F Train for the nausea to catch up with her. Debbie lurched out of the train and barely reached the rim of the nearest trash can. She could still feel him all over her, clawing his way under her skin like a parasite. Deborah Ocean had never been used in her life, not like  _ that.  _ She hadn’t expected it to be so humiliating. She spat into the trash can, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and walked unsteadily back to the edge of the platform. Her clothes, her hair, her  _ flesh _ didn’t feel like hers - could have belonged to anyone. “Danger: High Voltage” the sign across from her read, and for the briefest of moments before the next train screamed into the station, she wondered if the electricity in the tracks would be enough to jog her back into some semblance of  _ self. 

_ But when the train stopped, she boarded it. Let it carry her away, back to Brooklyn, back to Lou.  _

_ Lou.  _

_ Nothing was hers except, maybe, Lou.  _

_ She didn’t try to hide the tears in her eyes, the trembling of her hands. All the same, she pushed Lou away as she entered the door.  _

_ “Need a shower,” she muttered.  _

_ But she was pleased when Lou padded into the bathroom behind her, because Debbie couldn’t  _ ask  _ right now, because she didn’t know who she would be asking  _ for.  _ Lou slid into the too-small shower stall behind her and reached for a washcloth. Debbie watched her pour soap. The steam smelled like rosemary and mint, and Debbie took her first deep breath in hours as Lou passed her a toothbrush. Getting rid of the taste of him helped, made her eyes refocus. She could meet her gaze, now, and the fear in Lou’s eyes made her heart skip a beat. She felt her lip tremble, felt her eyes well.  _

_ “Debs?”  _

_ Debbie closed her eyes and leaned forward, fell against her because even like this, she knew Lou would catch her. The washcloth felt deliciously rough across her back, scrubbing away the residue of him. Lou’s fingers danced, and it took Debbie a full minute to realize that she was tracing red marks across her thighs and breasts that would be purple by morning. She gasped, and then she broke, shaking in Lou’s arms.  _

_ “It was... _ He  _ was worse than I thought.”  _

_ “I love you.”  _

_ “ _ Love  _ you, baby,” Debbie echoed.  _

_ Lou made sure that every inch of her was clean, and Debbie was glad she didn’t have to explain how important that was. Her fingers wove through the knots in Debbie’s hair that had formed against Claude’s silk sheets. Debbie’s sobs subsided, and she realized Lou was speaking to her, murmuring words that didn’t mean much, but were soothing all the same.  _

_ “It’s gonna be okay, honey. There you go, just relax. You don’t have to see him again, if you don’t want to. You’re mine, Debs, alright? Not his. Always. It’s okay. It’s okay.” _

_ Debbie stirred at last, nuzzled Lou’s neck where her face was buried against her damp skin. God, she was perfect. Debbie mouthed at the skin in front of her, wanting nothing more than to remember what she tasted like. She kissed her way up the side of Lou’s neck to her jaw, and then-- _

_ “Hey,” she murmured.  _

_ Lou ran her lips through her teeth, a nervous habit that Debbie had never realized she adored. Debbie smoothed her thumb across Lou’s chin. “You’re okay,” Lou whispered.  _

_ “Yeah, thanks to you.” Debbie leaned forward and kissed her before Lou could argue. She was always so soft, so different from Claude. She tugged Lou closer, grasped whatever part of her came to hand - her arm, her hip, the sinews of her shoulders that flexed under Debbie’s palm.  _

_ “What do you need, Debs?” _

_ “You. I just need you, Lou.  _ Want  _ you.”  _

_ “Are you sure?”  _

_ “Please, baby, I need to forget. Help me forget.” _

_ Lou shut off the water and took Debbie’s hand, helped her step out of the warm sanctuary of the shower and into the bathroom. She shook water out of her hair, and Debbie watched the droplets cascade down Lou’s back. In the bedroom, Lou moved over her and cupped her cheek.  _

_ “Say it again. I just want to be sure.”  _

_ “ _ Need  _ you, baby,” Debbie told her, took Lou’s hand and guided it between her legs. “Need you  _ here.”

_ Lou kissed every hint of a bruise as she made her way down Debbie’s body and then worked her own marks into the insides of Debbie’s hip bones. Her fingers coaxed moans and then cries from Debbie’s throat even before her tongue circled lower, chasing away the last remnant of his touch. The crest of her pleasure tore outwards at last, setting her skin alight, and when the fire smoldered to coals, Debbie found herself in her body - complete once more. _

_ ** _

__

_ She learned to bear the evenings with  _ him _ only because of the promise of the nights with  _ her _. _

_ “There’s just one more piece to go, baby. I can do this,” Debbie told Lou. “One signature, half a million dollars.”  _

_ “Debbie, don’t…”  _

_ “The sale goes through his gallery. He’s on the line, too. It’ll mean we can stop hitting shitty casinos on the gulf coast.”  _

_ “Don’t do it, honey. Don’t trust him.”  _

_ “Who says I trust him?”  _

_ The next time Debbie saw her, Lou was wearing a brown wig and hazel contacts, glaring across the courtroom at Claude Becker as if she wanted nothing more than to see him dead.  _

_ ** _

“I have something for you.” Lou’s voice stops the circles that Debbie’s mind is running. Debbie turns away from the water to set her sights on Lou, sitting on one of the cement blocks right at the edge of where concrete tumbles into sand and overgrowth, furthest away from the water. “Just, trust me, alright?”

Trusting Lou was never an issue - not for any part of it. Trusting Lou came as naturally as breathing. 

Debbie wondered if Lou trusted her, though. Here. Now.


	7. [34 words]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie steps into the centre of the space, standing rigid as Lou moves to dig into the back corners of her closet. 
> 
> Debbie tunes out the muttering under Lou’s breath and notes the way her heels sink into the oriental rug on the floor under her feet. Idly, she wonders if she’s tracked any sand from the beach inside; if her weight is grinding it into the fibres. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's always a journey to get here but they are finally moving in a productive direction!
> 
> For any who guessed, and who didn't guess but are curious, or just anybody that's reading this note, really, chapter 6 was written in tandem, by both of us!
> 
> Thank you for every kind word and note and kudos!

The metal stairs rattle under Debbie heels and then again under Lou’s following just behind. She’s making assumptions about where Lou’s taking her now that she’s three paces ahead of her. Debbie had followed behind off the sand and then Lou had held the door open for her and waiting for direction would have only served to draw the attention of the girls still sitting by Nine Ball’s laptop, looking at the seating chart. 

If any of them watch as Debbie and Lou pass, they don’t say it. A deep exhale comes from Constance, sitting on the couch, when Debbie steps off the last stair, onto the upper level, just before she rounds the corner. 

Lou’s gentle grasp around Debbie elbow, from behind, steers them to Lou’s bedroom at the end of the hall.  
Lou closes the door behind them.

Debbie steps into the centre of the space, standing rigid as Lou moves to dig into the back corners of her closet. Debbie tunes out the muttering under Lou’s breath and notes the way her heels sink into the oriental rug on the floor under her feet. Idly, she wonders if she’s tracked any sand from the beach inside; if her weight is grinding it into the fibres. 

Lou reappears before Debbie has the urge to check. She hands over an envelope with creased corners, an unbroken seal, and handwriting addressed to Debbie across the front that she’ll be able to recognize for the rest of her life.

“Linus didn’t lose it,” Lou shoves her hands in her back pockets and stands with her knees locked. “I stole it.”  
Debbie nods; chews the inside of her left cheek. Lou continues, tries to fill the quiet.  
“They would have read it - it wasn’t for them. And then they probably would have lost it.”

Debbie smirks at that; nods again. Lou’s right, the boys definitely would have lost it. She turns the envelope over and over in her hands, looking for any hint of tampering or any sign of it being fake. It’s real. She hadn’t truly expected anything less. Lou gave it to her.  _ Lou _ . She  _ trusted _ Lou. Always.

Count on Daniel Ocean to cross over the grave to chastise his baby sister one last time. 

Debbie picks at the corner of the envelope seal, slowly peeling the adhesive away from the paper.

Lou’s phone dings; the sound bouncing around the space that went so quiet only a few minutes before. Lou keeps her eyes on Debbie, still working on getting into the envelope without tearing it, as she pulls her phone from her back pocket. Finally glances down to read the preview of the text from the manager at the club; pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I need to go - I won’t be more than an hour.”  
Debbie acknowledges with a jerk of her chin, still staring strangely at the now-open envelope is her hands.  
“Just, don’t trash anything in here once you’ve read that thing. Please?”

Debbie nods again, pulls her eyes away from the paper to watch Lou leave and close the door behind her. Lou’s Gretsch hangs on the wall in front of her; the Gretsch that Debbie bought for Lou years ago, in a whole other life it sometimes feels like. 

She breathes in through her nose and turns her attention back to the letter in her hands that she finished opening before Lou left. 

She knows that Lou thinks she knows what it’s going to say.  
She’s probably right - Lou. She’s good at that, reading people.  
So is Debbie, though, and so she knows without Lou needing to say it that Lou is sure it’s going to tell Debbie not to do it; to leave the Met untouched.  
It’s going to say that Danny knows Debbie is good, but is she sure she’s  _ this _ good, and maybe she should cut her losses and avoid going back to prison.

Debbie knows Lou well enough to know that’s what Lou thinks. But Debbie also knows Danny better than Lou and she just has this feeling in the bottom of her gut. So she tugs the folded paper from the envelope and turns it over in her hands. Unfolds it, and holds an inhale for a count of five, until there’s nothing left to do but -

_ It’s brilliant, Debs. Dangerous as hell and brilliant.  
_ _ Don’t lose my watch. There’s a guy on 124th Street that’ll change the battery for free.  
_ _ Keep Lou around, Debs. She’s good for you. _

_ Love, Danny _

  
  
  


Lou takes the bike instead of the Toyota even with the chill that’s crept into the night. It forces her to focus on the road more than letting her mind wander. Forces the inside of her brain to be linear, even if she doesn’t feel it in her chest.

The club is a welcome distraction, though she doesn’t fully hear what Adrián tells her. The locks and the alarm all needed to be changed, but somebody else’s insurance paid for it. She isn’t sure - she’ll look over the details later when the receipts cross her desk. Later, when this job is done and The Met is over and she’s figured out where Debbie plans to be in her life when the excitement is gone. 

And this job is exciting; exciting in a way that thrums through Lou’s bloodstream.  
It’s elegant and quick and unexpected in every way that it needs to be and Lou knows that it’s  _ Debbie _ come to life. 

The drive back to loft finds it harder for Lou to focus on the road and her turning signals and the stop signs. Not that she actually needs to, she knows this route by muscle memory. She doesn’t like that she isn’t sure what she’ll walk into at the loft. At best Debbie has probably smashed her favourite lamp. The one that sits on Lou’s bedside table; the one she found at a flea market upstate. At worst Debbie will be gone, outright. She would prefer the first option, even if it means sacrificing a favourite piece of decor. She can live with Deborah Ocean not wanting to love her anymore; not wanting to  _ belong _ to her anymore; but could she live without Deborah Ocean at all? She had been fooling herself to think she could ever walk,  _ really  _ walk, earlier when they argued. 

Lou is greeted by a noted absence of apprehension when she walks back in through the front door. None of the girls seem to be nervous, or watching her at all. She assumes that wouldn’t be the case if Debbie was gone. Assumes they would be at least somewhat up in arms. But they’re not. And so, Lou crosses the living room and climbs the stairs and steals herself for whatever condition her room might be in when she gets to the end of the hallway.

Debbie is sitting cross-legged at the centre of Lou’s bed looking oddly serene and not surrounded by shattered glass or ceramic. She sits with her back ramrod straight and a smirk on her lips and waits for Lou to close the door behind her and step into the middle of the room to raise a single manicured eyebrow and shift her gaze to the letter sitting at the corner of the bed closest to where Lou is standing and then back up to Lou’s face.

Lou hesitates. There was a time she wouldn’t have; a time where her and Debbie barely even needed words, and used them even less. But that was then and this is now and so she reaches for the creased piece of paper and fingers the edge and gives Debbie time to tell her if what Lou is doing isn’t what Debbie intended.

No sign of hesitation. Lou holds Debbie’s gaze for an additional count of five, and then lowers her eyes to the note. 

Lou never did entirely settle on what she thought the note would say, but whatever ideas she had, none of them were what the note is. And so she reads it once and twice and then a third time just to be sure; resists the urge to crumple it up and curse Danny’s name and reminds herself that it was not, in fact, Daniel Ocean that put the responsibility of sharing this with his baby sister, onto her. She did that to herself when she stole it for safe-keeping.

“So are you going to listen to me, then?”  
“Lou -”  
"You can't play around with him, Debs, with Becker. You got burned the last time. And he's - worse than you know. Worse than you _ think _ . It's not a gamble worth taking." 

Debbie chews the inside of her cheek and exhales loudly. “He sent me to jail -”  
“- you don’t need to keep reminding me, Deborah.”  
“What do you mean he’s  _ worse _ than I know?”

Lou fumbles with her thoughts and stringing them into words. Turns away from Debbie; wanders to stand beside the window; shoves her hands in her pockets and keeps staring out through the glass when she finally speaks.

“He likes tall blondes and he likes strong women. Enjoys the feeling of being able to dominate them.”  
“He’s predictable, Lou. That’s why pinning it on him  _ works _ .”  
“How do you think I knew what to tell you to expect from him back then?”  
“Lou -”  
“-He’s predictable until he’s not, Debs.”

That’s all Lou says. Can’t seem to choke out much else, feels her tongue in knots at the back of her throat. And it takes a minute. Takes a few minutes. But Debbie puts it all together piece by meticulous piece, between the lines of what Lou’s implying.

“He came to see me in prison. Told me I wasn't his first choice. That we both like blondes with more to offer than I've got. He tried, didn't he?"

Lou doesn’t speak. Glances at Debbie over her shoulder before turning back to whatever she’s so fixed on outside the window, on the street below. She won’t say it. It still makes her feel grimy and that isn’t a feeling she relishes having in her space. 

Debbie moves all of the sudden. Tosses herself into the armchair in the corner beside where Lou is standing. Props her elbows on her knees and drops her head into her hands and rakes her fingers through her hair and - 

_ “fuck,” _

because the pieces fall into place all at once.  “He was so insistent,” Debbie breathes out. “So insistent that I tell him every single detail about how you said no, you weren’t interested in being a part of any of it. Wanted to know how you looked and what you said and how straight you were standing.” 

Debbie replays the scene where she told Claude that Lou wasn’t interested over and over, double time, slipping through her mind. 

Lou finally turns away from the window, shakes her bangs out of her eyes, moves to drop down and sit on the edge of her bed, squeezing her hands between her thighs. Her eyes bore into the side of Debbie’s head.

“I can’t put him away for that, Lou. But I can put him away for this.”  
Lou sighs, drops herself backwards onto the mattress, counts the speckles on the ceiling. “I know, Debs. I know.”  
Debbie hauls herself out of the arm chair to cross the room and drop onto her stomach beside Lou. Traces her mind along the lines of Lou’s profile. “I’ll put him away, baby. I will.”  
“I’m already in, honey. Don’t worry.”

They lie there for a while; Lou counting the ceiling specks and Debbie watching her do it. Lou almost doesn’t notice when Debbie’s breathing evens out. Turns her head sideways, watches Debbie’s face while she sleeps. She looks younger, like this, somehow. Looks more like the Debbie Lou knew before she went to prison. Looks as though she’s holding less weight on her shoulders.

Lou, for her part, feels lighter. She’s spent every day since Debbie came back trying to protect her; protect herself; figure out how to do either of those things, and maybe this is how. Maybe this is how she offers up herself to Debbie.

Debbie who, when Lou stops to think about it, has never asked for much of anything.  
Her fair cut; dedication to the things they commit to; but not much in the scheme of everything they’ve been through together.


	8. [3, 2, 1,...]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to trust her, to know for certain that Debbie’s clockwork heist is working.
> 
> She had stayed close the last few days, close enough to touch, and Lou had found herself unable to resist. A hand on Debbie’s lower back, the swipe of her thumb across the inside of her wrist, their fingers tangling together for a moment to reassure. 
> 
> It’s comforting to spiral towards her again, to relax enough to recognize that Debbie is doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, Netterz masterfully wrote Ch. 7! :) Remember to guess which of us wrote this one in the comments! 
> 
> Our ladies are finally starting to figure things out. It's refreshing, isn't it? 
> 
> Enjoy :)

The food truck smells like spiced meat and garlic sauce, but Lou isn’t hungry. She squeezes hot sauce over Nine Ball’s plate and passes it to her without taking her eyes off of Claude and Daphne on the screen. They’re walking arm in arm through the exhibit, Claude managing the train of her cape with a grace that even Lou can begrudgingly admire. There aren’t too many people in the exhibit; every so often she catches a glimpse of the Toussaint’s security guards, prowling along behind the couple looking bored. The headsets curling around their ears give them an almost robotic air, especially in the low-resolution of the security footage. 

She turns to leave and is waylaid by two hungry tourists. The easiest way to avoid suspicion is to serve them and by the time she does Claude and Daphne have flitted to another square on Nine Ball’s grid. Daphne’s back is pressed against the wall and his hands are all over her, groping the expensive fabric of her gown, reaching down to slide up the outside of her thigh. His hands look like spiders and Lou can feel them on her. Can feel the way they ran over her that day in his gallery all those years ago when she refused him. Lou fights the urge to vomit but can’t prevent a noise of disgust from rising in her throat. 

Nine Ball looks over at her sympathetically. “Gross even in low-res, isn’t it?” 

Lou nods and smiles humorlessly, clips the ID badge to her jacket and slips out of the back of the food truck. She fingers the bottle of Ipecac in her pocket, wishing she could use it on  _ him _ , too. But that would ruin everything, and throwing him in prison will be satisfaction enough. Lou shivers and pushes him from her mind, concentrates on the sound of her own footsteps along the side of the museum to the employee entrance. They didn’t bother clearing this stretch from CCTV or other cameras - better to hide in the open, just a late-arriving nutritionist rushing in from a previous engagement. She even has a fake booking before this that can be confirmed by only a few minutes on the internet. There won’t be a need to look further. She’s legit, thanks to Nine Ball.

The advantage of working in the kitchen is that it’s busy. Time passes quickly, leaving Lou with little energy to spend on worrying about Debbie or the other parts of the job. It feels good to trust her, to know for certain that Debbie’s clockwork heist is working. There’s still a chasm between them, but it’s smaller now, and maybe - just  _ maybe  _ \- there’s a hint of a future. Debbie had stayed close the last few days, close enough to touch, and Lou had found herself unable to resist. A hand on Debbie’s lower back, the swipe of her thumb across the inside of her wrist, their fingers tangling together for a moment to reassure. It’s comforting to spiral towards her again, to relax enough to recognize that Debbie is doing the same. 

“Ready to sit,” Tammy murmurs into the headset. 

Lou lets the images of Debbie float away, catches Amita’s eye across the room, and winks. Amita takes a deep breath and manages a strained smile. 

“Okay, counting down,” Nine Ball cuts in. “Three, two, one…”

**

_ The job  _ is _ Debbie _ , Lou thinks. At least, that’s what it feels like. Each movement is smooth, the way Debbie is smooth even in hooker heels. Each calculation is sharp as Debbie’s gaze. Handling the crown jewels in the exhibit is a lot like touching  _ her _ , enough to make Lou blush in the low light of the room. The edges are rough against Lou’s fingers, but the gems shine as brightly as Deborah Ocean did on that rooftop in Vegas thirteen years ago. 

“Anybody got eyes on Lou?” Nine Ball asks. 

Lou smirks and guides the play-submarine towards the next statue, where Yen is already lifting a necklace of sapphires and replacing it with a sparkling zirconium replica.

“Seriously, really need eyes on Lou, y’all. What’s goin’ on?”

“Lou, what the fuck?” Tammy mutters, but Lou doesn’t respond, concentrates instead on guiding the toy back towards her. 

There’s a rustling noise outside in the corridor, and Lou hears Debbie’s voice whispering in both ears this time, from the earpiece and from the doorway. “Don’t worry about her. Stay focused.”

A moment later, Debbie is jabbering away in German to two security guards, outside the exhibit. Lou half-listens as Yen shimmies over to the final statue. 

Just as Debbie said, it’s clockwork - seconds ticking by as each piece falls into place. Before she knows it, Lou slips into the returning crowd of celebrities with nearly 200 million dollars of jewels safely stowed in the catering cart and heads for the corridor behind the kitchen. Amita emerges right on cue and slides something heavy into her pocket. Lou doesn’t break stride, pushes the cart inside the waiting catering truck. She’s about to slide into the driver’s seat, but then - 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , Debbie!” 

“How’d it go?” Debbie asks, looking up at Lou from the driver’s seat. Lou leans against the side of the passenger seat. 

“What do you mean?” Lou asks, narrowing her eyes. Debbie has never been one for mid-heist check-ins. 

“The  _ jewels _ , Lou. You got them, right?” 

Lou frowns. “Yeah, of course. You’d know if I didn’t.” Abruptly, she’s reminded of the distance between them. She’s hopeful, yes, but Debbie isn’t  _ hers  _ yet, and she isn’t Debbie’s, and why -  _ why _ \- is Debbie sitting here as though she thought something would go wrong? 

“And?”

“And  _ what _ ?” Lou asks, pulls the chef’s hat from her head and tosses it aside. She feels defeated. “Yen was brilliant.” She gestures to the catering cart, and then remembers that Yen is indeed still trapped inside. She moves to unlock it. She doesn’t want to look at Debbie. 

“I bet all your practicing with those submarines in the bay paid off, too, didn’t it?” Debbie asks as Lou helps Yen climb out of the storage container. He smiles at them both. 

Lou ignores Debbie’s comment. It’s condescending to have her work checked like this. 

“See you soon,” she tells Yen as he slides out the front passenger door, melting into the shadows almost at once in his black garb. 

“Zàijiàn,” he replies. And then he’s gone, and Lou’s left with Debbie and the knowledge of how far there is still to go. 

“Why are you here?” Lou asks, sinking into the passenger seat. 

Debbie turns to face her. “Just checking in,” she says breezily. 

“Since when?” 

“Since I  _ care  _ what happens to you? I don’t know.” 

“Are you checking in on the others as well?” Lou asks. 

“No.” Debbie looks confused. “Why would I?”

Lou scoffs. “Don’t you trust me at all?” It’s meant to be harsh, but the break in her voice gives her away. She decides she doesn’t care.

“Lou, of  _ course _ , I -” 

“It’s like walking on eggshells with you, ever since you got out. I don’t know where I  _ fit _ anymore. This job - it’s  _ brilliant _ , don’t get me wrong - but God, Debbie, I never needed this. All I wanted -” Lou squeezes her eyes shut, swallows around the lump in her throat as all the anger she’s suppressed for weeks bubbles up in her chest. “I wanted you  _ back _ .” 

“I  _ am  _ back, Lou,” Debbie says. But she sounds sad, and Lou knows it’s complicated, and  _ God _ , the one thing she can’t bear are the words she fears are hanging on Debbie’s tongue.  _ I love you, but not like  _ that _. Not anymore.  _

“But it’s not just  _ you _ , Debbie. It’s you and the job and  _ Tammy _ and -”

“What does Tammy have to do with it?” Debbie asks. Lou can tell she’s trying to keep her tone nonchalant, but there’s a slight tremor to it, all the same. She  _ knows _ . 

Lou huffs a laugh. “You need me to say it, Debs? Really? You’ve been all  _ over  _ her, ever since you went to recruit her. I’m not  _ blind _ . And if she’s what you want now, that’s fine, but couldn’t you at least  _ tell  _ me. I -”

Debbie moves so suddenly that Lou is taken by surprise. All of a sudden, she’s out of her chair, kneeling in front of Lou where she’s hunched herself over her knees. Debbie’s eyes, now just inches from Lou’s, are wet, and it’s that, more than anything, and makes Lou pause. For a lingering moment, Debbie looks at her, and Lou stares back. Debbie’s lips part as she reaches out to caress the side of Lou’s face. And then Debbie is leaning upwards and tugging Lou’s neck down towards her, and Lou  _ wants  _ this, wants  _ her _ . 

“Debbie, stop.” Her voice is rough and doesn’t feel like her own. Debbie groans in frustration and moves to pull away, but Lou holds her fast. “I need words first.” 

Debbie leans her forehead into Lou’s and sighs. “My brilliant idiot,” she murmurs. And Lou remembers those words, remembers the way Debbie said them all those years ago in the vanity lights of their Vegas hotel room. Tingling relief starts at her fingertips and spreads slowly inwards even as Debbie continues, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore. You had your own life, your own people. I don’t  _ want  _ Tammy, but I thought she made sense if I couldn’t have you. I thought that’s what  _ you  _ wanted for me.” 

Lou chokes back a sob, but Debbie is steady before her, stroking her hair in a slow, even rhythm. “You thought I didn’t want you?” Lou whispers at last. 

Debbie nods. Her eyes are still wet, Lou notices. “At first I thought you were with what’s-his-name - Adrián?, then maybe Nine Ball,” Debbie explains. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Lou swallows hard. Her mind races. Had it been her own fault that they drifted apart? She pushes guilt to the side for now. There are more important things at hand. 

“I’ll always want to be with you, Jailbird,” Lou murmurs. “Always.” 

“Then  _ be _ with me.” 

“Deb…”

“I  _ love  _ you, Lou.” 

Lou gives a shaky laugh and reaches for Debbie’s free hand. The other is still running steadily through Lou’s hair, which has come undone from the tight ponytail she had worn under her chef’s hat. Lou lets the time fill her, mingling with the warm relief nestling under her heart.

“Can I kiss you now?” Debbie asks.

Lou smiles, can’t choke out a  _ yes,  _ God _ , yes,  _ but she manages a nod. 

Debbie’s lips are softer than she remembers, yielding under the gentle pressure of Lou’s mouth. Her hands trail up Debbie’s arms, catching on the sheer fabric on her right and raising goosebumps on her left. She reaches the base of Debbie’s neck before she remembers Debbie’s wig. Her fingers play across her neck, and Debbie’s sighs against her. She tastes like champagne, and Lou drinks her in for a few heartbeats before the flavor reminds her of where they are. 

“Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Lou asks, pulling away just enough to murmur the words against Debbie’s mouth. 

Debbie laughs softly, kisses Lou again and tugs on her hair, tugs her  _ closer  _ even though there’s a job to do. “I’ll see you soon,” Debbie whispers. Her breath makes Lou shiver. 

“11:13 and change. I’ll be there, Jailbird.” 

Debbie kisses her as a reply and pulls away. Her eyes are still wet, but there’s a smile playing across her face. She straightens her wig and swings herself back into the driver’s seat of the van. Her hand is on the door handle. 

“Hey, Debs?” 

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

**

Lou is only 42 seconds late, enough for Debbie’s watch to click over to 11:14. She tucks the watch back into the bodice of her dress and adjusts the bracelet on her wrist. Amita has outdone herself. Debbie is used to the white hot adrenaline rush of a job well done, but this time the satisfaction is softer, warmer - warmer like waking to Lou’s face, like Lou’s lips on hers. The Louboutins give her a lift, but Debbie’s never felt this tall in her life. 

She blinks, and suddenly, Lou is walking towards her. Lou -  _ her  _ Lou - in a shining green jumpsuit. The plunging neckline draws Debbie’s gaze to the diamonds hanging heavy against her chest, and Debbie smiles. Her heart beats in her throat. This isn’t just Lou, this is  _ Lou Miller  _ in her element, in gaudy green and sequins, fully herself. Debbie feels every inch of the space between them closing rapidly, but not fast enough. She  _ needs  _ her now, needs her like she’s air or food or water.

And then she’s there, catching Debbie up in her arms and spinning her around. 

“You did it, honey.” 

“ _ We  _ did it.” 

Debbie sighs into the kiss as Lou explores her mouth, giving herself over to her. It’s chilly, but the goosebumps running up her back have nothing to do with the temperature. 

“What are you dressed up for?” she asks at last. 

“You, Jailbird. Always you.” 

Lou kisses her again, softer this time. 

“I love you.” The words are almost inaudible, but Debbie feels every syllable against her skin. 

“Take me home, baby.” 

Lou does.


	9. [2000 days]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou’s warm.   
> Warm, and her heart is beating under the palm that Debbie has settled against her sternum. 
> 
> “You okay?” Lou asks.   
> Exhaustion is crawling slowly up her spine and her feet ache, but Debbie is happier than she’s been in six years. “I am now,” she replies.   
> “Me too. May I?” Lou fiddles with the zipper on the side of Debbie’s dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes added a day late because....we forgot) 
> 
> As you all thought, Hope wrote the last chapter! :)

_ In the first week of February Lou was awoken at 10 am by her phone vibrating against her water glass. She groaned, flung out a hand to silence it and missed, knocking the glass over instead and dousing her hand in cool water.  _

_ “Shit.”  _

_ She sat up and picked up her phone, rescuing it from the rapidly growing pool. She was just about to tap the red “Decline” on the screen, but something about the caller ID seemed familiar even without her glasses on. She squinted hard, and the word “Nichol’s” came into focus. Nichol’s Women’s Prison. Lou had loaded the number into her phone after the sentencing, just in case. Not that she ever expected Debbie to call her. It was safer for both of them if she didn’t. And iff Debbie  _ was _ calling her, something serious was going on. As excited as Lou was to hear her voice again, her heart beat nervously as she swiped her thumb across the screen to answer the call.  _

_ “Lou Miller,” she said brusquely.  _

_ “This call is incoming from Nichol’s Women’s Prison,” an automated voice rang out, and Lou hastily dialed down the volume on her phone. There was a beep and then silence punctuated by moments of white noise.  _

_ “Debbie?” she said finally. _

_ There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Hey, baby.” Debbie’s voice shook. She sounded small and vulnerable. Something was wrong, and it made Lou’s skin crawl.  _

_ “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked. She pushed a pillow behind her back and sat up against her headboard.  _

_ “Have you heard from anyone recently? You know, the old crowd - Rusty, Reuben…”  _

_ “No,” Lou said, nonplussed. “Why?”  _

_ “It’s Danny, Lou,” Debbie said shakily.  _

_ “Fuck, he got himself locked up again? That  _ idiot. _ ”  _

_ “No, Lou, he’s - he -”  _

_ Lou’s stomach turned to ice as Debbie stammered. “What happened, Debs?”  _

_ “He had a heart attack, Lou, and -”  _

_ “Deb -”  _

_ “They’re saying he didn’t make it.”  _

_ Lou closed her eyes. The world seemed frozen in place. Sure, Lou had her beef with Danny, but he had made peace with Debbie in the years before her arrest, and he’d even checked in on Lou once or twice during her sentence. And now...  _

_ Lou’s thoughts were interrupted by the automated voice cutting through their conversation: “This call is incoming from Nichol’s Women’s Prison.”  _

_ “So,” Lou said as the voice died away. “Are you -?”  _

_ “They won’t let me out for the funeral on Saturday,” Debbie said. Her voice was cold now, devoid of all emotion, and Lou ached for her.  _

_ “Oh, Debs, I’m so sorry.”  _

_ “Yeah. Saul said there was a letter for me, but obviously he can’t bring it to me. I’ll have to wait for one of them to cough it up once I’m out.”  _

_ Lou managed a dry laugh. “Good luck with that.”  _

_ Debbie sighed again. “Anyway, I just - I wanted you to know.”  _

_ “Yeah, of course. Is there anything I can do?”  _

_ “Nah. Just be ready, okay? When I get out.” _

_ For a third time they were interrupted by the cold automated voice that spoke too loudly.  _

_ “I’ll be waiting, Debs. I -” _

_ “I gotta go, baby. I only get five minutes.”  _

_ “I miss you, Debbie,” Lou said in a rush.  _

_ Debbie was silent for so long that Lou almost thought she had been cut off, but then she murmured, “Yeah, I miss you too.” _

_ There was a click and then a dial tone, and Lou was left to ponder the strangled nature of Debbie’s words.  _

_ ** _

_ The funeral was grim and awkward. Lou tried not to make eye contact with anyone except Rusty. He had always been decent to her, even after they broke up. She wasn’t sure if what they had been could even count as a  _ relationship _ , but objectively, she liked him. Moreover, he knew how to keep an Ocean in line, and especially after teaming up with Debbie, Lou had learned to respect that skill. Given their history, Lou wasn’t entirely surprised to find him standing in the snow outside her front door several hours after Danny had been laid to rest, with a six pack of beer in each hand. She sighed and let him inside.  _

_ “You holding up okay?” she asked once they were settled in the living room, each of them sprawling on an end of the couch.  _

_ He grimaced, cracked open a bottle, and chugged half of it in one go.  _

_ “That bad, huh?”  _

_ “Could use a distraction,” he said, eyebrows raised in her direction.  _

_ She grinned, but shook her head. “That was a long time ago, Rust. Another lifetime, really.”  _

_ “Right,” he said, leaning forward to collect a handful of chips from the bowl she had provided. “You traded me in and upgraded for an Ocean.”  _

_ “Didn’t you do the same?”  _

_ They’d never spoken about it, but the pain in his expression told her everything she needed to know. He chugged the second half of his beer and reached for the vodka.  _

_ “Probably should have started with the liquor,” she warned him. But he gave her a look that told her he couldn’t care less as he poured each of them a shot.  _

_ “To Danny,” he said, raising the glass.  _

_ “Danny.” The vodka hit the back of Lou’s throat and slid past the lump that had settled there since the funeral. It wasn’t just about Danny, though, she had to admit. It was that Debbie should have been there, that Debbie had been in prison for over 2,000 days, that Lou hadn’t told her she loved her in almost six years. Lou accepted a second shot from Rusty and tried to ignore the tears that stung her eyes. _

_ “I miss him,” Rusty said, sometime later. Lou had already lost count of the number of shots he’d taken. She herself had just swallowed her fifth.  _

_ “You’ve a right to miss him.” She swept her arms in an expansive gesture. “You loved him, didn’t you?”  _

_ He shrugged a noncommittal assent. _

_ “She loved him, too,” Lou said, reaching for a beer. Her tongue was starting to go numb from the vodka, and that was always her cue to switch things up.  _

_ “ Deb?” he asked.  _

_ “Mm hmm. Do you think he knew that?”  _

_ “Think so. He talked to her at Christmas.”  _

_ “I wonder if she told him -” Lou trailed off.  _

_ “She did,” Rusty said, reaching for the vodka once more. “I have a letter for her.” he patted his jacket that was slung across the back of the couch. “Linus wants to make sure it’s genuine before we give it to her, but I’ll get it to you before she’s out.”  _

_ Lou’s eyes flicked to the coat and away again. There was no way in hell that letter was going to be opened by anyone other than Debbie, she would make sure of that. Besides, Linus would probably lose it.  _

_ “She should have been there,” Rusty said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as only three quarters of this most recent shot made it past his lips. “At the funeral.”  _

_ Lou nodded solemnly. “She should have.”  _

_ “It’s okay to miss her, you know,” he told her.  _

_ Lou looked at him, wondering if he had noticed her slightly watery eyes or seen through to the lump in her throat. “She’s not  _ gone,  _ Rust,” she insisted.  _

_ “But she’s not here right now, either, is she?” He moved closer to her on the couch, and she had to admit that his presence was comforting. He was the only person she knew who really understood what it was like to have your partner, not to mention your  _ partner _ , in prison.  _

_ “No. She’s not,” Lou agreed quietly.  _

_ “Like I said. It’s okay to miss her.”  _

_ Lou felt the tears burn again, but this time she didn’t try to stop them. “Look at us, huh?” she said, voice rough and harsh.  _

_ Rusty slung an arm around Lou’s shoulders. “They got us good, huh?”  _

_ “They sure did.”  _

_ She looked at him, aware suddenly of how close he was. No doubt it was the alcohol, but everything she’d always liked about him seemed particularly apparent - the bow of his lips, his bright eyes, his kindness. He wasn’t Debbie. In fact, he was just about as far from Debbie as it was possible to be, and somehow, that made him safe. Lou licked her lips, eyes darting over his face. She leaned forward and felt him do the same.  _

_ He tasted like she remembered, maybe. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. His hand traveled down her back, tugging her closer, and Lou followed, hooked her fingers into the collar of his shirt and deepened the kiss.  _

_ He wasn’t Debbie; she couldn’t pretend he was. It took about five seconds for it to matter. She pulled away.  _

_ “You’re thinking of him,” she muttered, not making eye contact.  _

_ “You’re thinking of her.”  _

_ She smiled sadly and looked at him through her fringe. “You smell like a gutter.”  _

_ “Yeah, well you...don’t.” He grinned - the first real smile she’d seen from him that night. “You smell a bit like Debbie.”  _

_ “Been wearing her perfume.”  _

_ “It’s nice.”  _

_ “Thanks.”  _

_ Lou squeezed his hand, stood up, and stretched. He made to follow her, but a second later, he landed with a crash next to the coffee table. Lou watched with her eyebrows raised as he struggled back onto the couch.  _

_ “Sleep it off, dumbass,” she told him. “I’ll make you coffee in the morning.”  _

_ He grunted a response. Lou could see his eyelids already drooping. She smiled fondly, slipped the letter for Debbie out of his coat pocket, and made her way upstairs.  _

_ Debbie had been inside for 2,051 days, but something about the letter reminded Lou: there were only 31 days to go.  _

**

  
  


The jewels are stored in the extra refrigerator, the pieces of the Toussaint placed carefully into velvet-lined boxes in the bathroom-cum-staging area on the first floor. A loud pop shatters the quiet as Lou uncorks a bottle of champagne and pours two glasses. 

“To us!” 

“To us.” 

Lou’s eyes twinkle in the warm light of her bedroom. Downstairs felt too empty. This is intimate and personal and  _ real _ . Debbie steps close to her, invites herself into Lou’s space and leans her head against Lou’s shoulder. The burst of champagne on her tongue coupled with Lou’s perfume are enough to make her head spin, or maybe that’s just relief. Relief, and falling in love all over again. 

“I missed you,” Debbie murmurs. 

“Missed you, too, Jailbird.” Lou presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get you out of this wig.”

Without waiting for Debbie to respond, Lou begins to undo the pins, placing each on the dresser. Lou’s gentle, uncurling each piece of Debbie’s hair and letting it fall against her shoulders. Debbie hums her contentment, fiddles with the buttons on the front of Lou’s jumpsuit until one comes loose. She chases the bare skin with her fingertips. Lou removes the last pin and sets it aside, runs her fingers through Debbie’s hair until Debbie can do nothing but sigh against her. 

Lou’s warm. 

Warm, and her heart is beating under the palm that Debbie has settled against her sternum. 

“You okay?” Lou asks. 

Exhaustion is crawling slowly up her spine and her feet ache, but Debbie is happier than she’s been in six years. “I am now,” she replies. 

“Me too. May I?” Lou fiddles with the zipper on the side of Debbie’s dress.

“Please.” 

Lou’s got the dress almost to the floor when Debbie looks up at her. 

“So, you weren’t actually sleeping with Adrián, were you?”

Lou smiles as though she knew Debbie would ask eventually. “No,” she says, “well, I used to. But not for a year or so. Mostly he’s a friend, and he brings me my mail.” 

“Your mail?” 

“Yeah, he sorts out the junk for me and gets to keep the coupons in return,” Lou explains.

“And the night he was at your place practically naked?” 

“Strip poker.”

Debbie looks at her. “Seriously?”

“Hundred percent.” Lou fiddles with Debbie’s slip. 

“Go ahead,” Debbie encourages. Lou begins to undo the fastenings. “Does he know about me?” Debbie asks. “I mean -” 

Lou nods. “When we first got together, I told him my girl was in prison, that whatever he and I did, it was casual - no strings attached.” 

“And he was okay with that?” 

Lou smiled a little sadly. “His girl’s gone, too.” 

“Prison?” 

“Detention. On the border. She gets transferred a lot.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Yeah.”

Debbie steps out of her clothes, aware suddenly that she’s naked apart from her underwear. She’s not sure what to do with the realization. “I’m glad you made a friend. He seems -” 

“He is,” Lou confirms. “I’m sorry about how it looked, though.”

Debbie shrugs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry that I flirted with Tammy and didn’t tell you about Claude because I thought you wanted space.” 

“I only suggested Tammy because I knew she’d be the best. I never wanted you to -” 

“I kissed her, Lou.” Debbie can’t take back the confession once it’s out of her mouth. Her heart pounds violently against her ribs. 

Lou pauses in undoing the remaining buttons of her jumpsuit, and to Debbie’s surprise, there’s yet another smile playing around her mouth. “It’s okay,” she says. “I kissed Rusty after Danny’s funeral.”

Debbie stares at her for a moment, and then bursts out laughing, laughs so hard she has to put her champagne flute down on the dresser next to the pile of hairpins. Lou’s eyes are shining with amusement as she takes Debbie’s hands and guides them to her shoulders, encouraging her to push the sequined sleeves off her shoulders. Debbie takes the hint and begins to undress her, still laughing intermittently for a while until Lou is standing naked before her. 

“Oh, Lou,” she whispers, eyes tracing the angles of Lou’s hips, the curve of her waist. She meets Lou’s gaze and holds it, but Lou is stepping closer now, and Debbie gasps as her bare skin find’s Lou’s warmth. 

“I never stopped loving you,” Lou murmurs. 

**

The water cascades between their bodies, and Lou reaches through it, to wipe a smear of mascara from Debbie’s cheek. 

“I think that’s a lost cause, don’t you?” Debbie reaches up to mirror the movement under Lou’s left eye. 

Lou smiles and turns her face into Debbie’s palm, plants an open-mouthed kiss on her skin. Debbie lingers there for a moment and then reaches for the shampoo, pouring a little into her hand before carding her fingers through Lou’s hair and working up a lather. Lou groans, tilting her head back and letting the sensations fill her, tamps down the urge to reach for Debbie in return. Because she wants  _ this,  _ too. She wants Debbie to revel in her moment of tentative caretaking - not an intuitive role for her, Lou knows. There’ll be plenty of time to return the favor - days and weeks and years. For now, she stays still and doesn’t impede Debbie’s movements as she repeats the process with Lou’s conditioner. The soap comes next, slick on Debbie’s hands, and it’s almost too much because Lou  _ wants  _ her. She meets Debbie’s hands with her own, but Debbie squeezes them and gently lays them back at her sides. 

“Baby, let me take care of you.” 

“Want to feel you,” Lou manages to say, voice rough with well-earned exhaustion and relief at having Debbie back. 

“You will. I promise.” 

Lou sighs, arching against the precision of Debbie’s touch, the electricity that shoots through her when Debbie palms her breasts and squeezes. It’s then that Lou realizes that she hasn’t let herself  _ feel  _ for almost six years - for well over 2,000 days. She’s aroused, yes. But it’s more than that, something deeper that lifts each part of her towards Debbie. She’s floating, more relaxed than she’s ever been in her life, by the time Debbie finally passes the shampoo and kisses Lou softly. 

“Your turn now, baby.” 

Lou is eager,  _ desperate _ almost, but she makes herself slow down. The last time she touched her like this was the night before Debbie’s arrest. She had spent the day with Claude, and when she got home, Lou had bathed her like she always did after  _ him _ . It seemed to help.

But Lou doesn’t want to think about that now. This is different. Today she can  _ worship  _ her instead, because Debbie is whole and triumphant, riding a wave of success. 

Lou is gentle, relearning the planes of her body and lingering on new scars. There are three - a small round one on her forearm, a gash across her wrist a few inches lower, and a long, knotted scar that curves around her right hip and down her thigh. Lou doesn’t ask, doesn’t  _ need  _ to know yet, because Debbie is safe and  _ hers _ . For now, that’s all that matters. Her hair falls in dark curtains down her back as Lou helps the water run through it, rinsing the last of the conditioner and soap down the drain.

“Tired?” Lou asks a few minutes later, as they stand in front of the mirror running through half a package of make-up wipes between the two of them. 

“Exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for days. I haven’t been sleeping all that well, just...with everything.” 

Lou frowns. “You slept well a few nights ago when you crashed with me.” 

Debbie blushes as she digs a new toothbrush out of one of Lou’s drawers. Somehow, it touches Lou that she doesn’t want to walk to her room down the hall and collect her own. A new start. 

“I always sleep well with you,” Debbie says casually with half a mouth full of toothpaste. 

Lou smiles. “Better keep me around then.” 

“I better.”

They fall into bed, too tired to speak much more after that. Lou doesn’t even have a chance to open her arms before Debbie’s curling into her, naked skin pressed flush to Lou’s. Lou reaches past her to turn off the light, letting the room fall into darkness but for the orange light of the streetlamp that filters through the airy curtains. 

“Congrats, Jailbird.” Lou pushes Debbie’s damp hair to the side and kisses her neck, eliciting a sigh. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“Mm.  _ That’s  _ true.” 

“Love you.” 

“Love you, too, Debs.” 

**

Debbie awakens slowly. She registers warmth first, spreading down her limbs. Soft, grey light presses on her eyelids, and the air is heavy with the promise of soaking rain. On the surface, it feels the same as yesterday, except Debbie knows better, knows that today is different. Today, each part of the jigsaw has shifted into place with a satisfying click. Lou breathes deep and steady against her back. She’s surrounded by her smell - no perfume, just  _ Lou _ . She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. Lou’s arm is draped around her, idly cupping her breast, and Debbie smiles.

With small movements so as not to wake her, Debbie turns in her arms and moves down the bed a little, enough so as to nestle her face in Lou’s chest. No doubt Lou has a plunging neckline picked out for today, but Debbie doesn’t care, mouths at the skin in front of her, biting just enough to raise a pretty bruise. Maybe Lou will wear purple to match. 

Lou stirs and hums, her arm tightening around Debbie’s shoulders, holding her close. Debbie feels her heart rate increase slightly. Her movements are still languid, but her mind is waking up, and Debbie pulls away just enough to see her face. Lou’s eyelids flutter, a hint of blue. Debbie strokes her side, and the lines at the corners of her mouth tug into a soft smile. 

“Hey, baby,” Debbie murmurs. She settles her hand over Lou’s heart and shifts up to kiss her before Lou speaks, not seeking heat yet, just gentle pressure and warmth. Her hand slips to Lou’s breast, and Lou arches into her, chasing contact. 

“I can think of worse ways to wake up,” Lou says, voice hoarse and gravelly with sleep. 

Debbie hums her agreement and kisses Lou harder, nibbling her lower lip until Lou grants entrance to her mouth and Debbie deepens the kiss. Lou seems to be trying to touch as much of Debbie as she can, hands sliding down her back, tugging her hips closer. Debbie squeezes Lou’s breast, feeling the nipple harden against her palm. 

“Do we have time to -?” Lou asks against her mouth. 

“ _ Yes _ .” 

Lou pushes Debbie onto her back and settles her hips between her thighs. Debbie keeps her eyes on Lou, enthralled as she dips her head to her chest and plants a spiral of soft kisses around her nipple before finally taking it in her mouth. Her tongue curls and flicks, and a whine catches in Debbie’s throat. She’s forgotten how good this feels. Forgotten, or else it’s never been this sweet, this  _ real _ . She exhales Lou’s name on a sigh as blonde hair tickles her ribs, her stomach, the insides of her thighs as she spreads her legs wider. Lou’s breath is warm against her aching flesh. 

The door opens. 

Lou flings herself on top of Debbie in a gallant attempt at preserving her modesty. Debbie fumbles for the blankets, which have slipped almost out of reach around Lou’s hips, but it’s a lost cause. By the time she snags a corner of the sheet with her index finger, Constance has already planted herself next to the bed. 

“Hey, hey, didn’t you  _ just  _ tell me to avoid distractions?” she asks, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “This looks like a distraction to me.” Behind her, Nine Ball slouches into the room in a cloud of smoke, surveys Debbie and Lou with a half-fascinated, half-bemused expression. 

“What? I didn’t say  _ anything _ about distractions.” Debbie shoots back, choosing to ignore the mortifying nature of the situation. 

“She’s talking to me,” Lou says through a groan, turning her face on Debbie’s chest to glare at Constance. “And  _ fuck  _ off, Constance.” 

“Rude. Not here for your double standards, man.”

Lou heaves a sigh. “Look, I don’t give a shit if you want to get laid today, my point was about  _ yesterday _ . No distractions  _ when you’re about to be lifting six pounds of diamonds from the fucking Met Ball.”  _ Debbie is glad that a combination of Lou’s hair and her own is hiding most of her face so Constance can’t see her amused grin at the sound of Lou’s maternal no-nonsense tone.

Constance contemplates Lou’s words for a moment. “- Kay,” she says finally. “But Tammy’s downstairs and told us to tell you to be down in five minutes or she’ll come get you herself.” 

“Well, you can tell Tammy to -” 

“Nah, fam, Tammy’s scary as hell after her morning smoothie.” 

“Fuck  _ off _ , Constance,” Lou and Debbie say in unison. 

Constance raises her eyebrows. “That’s just creepy. You’re like the twins from  _ The Shining _ .” Constance dodges the pillow Lou tries to hurl at her. “Downstairs. Five minutes. Come on, Nine, let’s go.” They both meander out of the room, Nine pausing to admire the Gretsch Electromatic on her way past. Constance leaves the door ajar behind her, and the voices of the others filter through the crack - a little muffled, but present and unavoidable nonetheless. 

Debbie sighs. “I guess they’re all early.” 

“Wonder if they slept at all.” Lou scowls as she peels herself off Debbie’s chest. Her eyes soften as she looks down at her. “I was really looking forward to--” 

“Me too. It’s been -” 

“2,209 days.” Debbie looks at her in surprise. “I’ve had my own count, Jailbird,” Lou admits. “It’s been a long damn time.” 

**

They’re downstairs in seven minutes, Debbie’s neck still tingling from where Lou had insisted on nibbling a mark to match the ones dotting her chest. Lou’s dark red vest mocks her, and Debbie wonders if she’ll be able to concentrate on the day’s tasks.  _ Talk about distractions _ , she thinks. Tammy’s eyes dart between them, calculating. She gives Debbie a thin-lipped, grimace of a smile, and though Debbie would rather go back to prison than apologize for her weeks of flirting in front of the rest of the team, she does try to inject as much regret as possible into her expression. After a few seconds, Tammy rolls her eyes as if to say,  _ I know Deb. It was always going to be Lou.  _

There’s breakfast on the kitchen island, courtesy of Amita. She snags a bagel and a large cup of coffee before giving Lou a meaningful look and heading towards the fainting couch in the corner. Lou gives her a nod, scoops up her computer, and follows. The others flit between the kitchen and the living room, except for Nine Ball, who is hard at work tapping on the keys of her computer, tracking every move of the search for the missing Toussaint. 

“You just wanted to get me alone, didn’t you?” Lou murmurs, sliding close to Debbie so their thighs brush. 

“Interesting definition of  _ alone _ ,” Debbie notes with a nod towards the other women. She takes a bite of the bagel and chews slowly, pushes the plate towards Lou and reaches for the computer. 

Lou shrugs at the food. “I had a different breakfast in mind,” she mutters, breath ghosting against Debbie’s ear. 

Debbie shivers, a blush creeping down her cheekbones. “Down, girl.” 

“Mm. Tell me to stop.” Lou kisses Debbie’s neck, trails her tongue around her pulse point. 

“ _ Lou _ ,” Debbie says in a warning voice. She takes a sip of coffee and tries to concentrate on the laptop screen. 

Lou pulls away with a sigh. “I’m gonna kill Constance.” 

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Debbie chastises without looking at her. She’s preoccupied with trying to remember the fake email address she had created a few days ago to get in touch with Daphne Kluger’s people. 

“Fine,” Lou huffs. “Then I’ll kill Tammy.” 

“We  _ need  _ Tammy. Here.” She hands Lou the cup of coffee. “Drink up, and then help me with this.”

After securing Daphne for a meeting the following afternoon, there’s the matter of finding four convincing octogenarians to sell the pieces of the Toussaint. After the octogenarians, there’s the business of reconfirming the accounts, and after the accounts there’s the vast calendar of auctions, stretching well into June. They need to be ready for any of them, even the most obscure gem sales in the most obscure corners of the American heartland.

Periodically throughout the day, Lou pulls Debbie aside into the storage closet off the kitchen, into the corridor behind the glass fronted doors on the north end of the building, and finally outside into a bright May afternoon where seagulls squawk over the bay. Debbie finds herself pressed against the wall of the warehouse with her shoulders digging into rough bricks. Her black silk shirt offers little protection, but Lou doesn’t seem to care. Indeed, her hands are already bunching the silk further up Debbie’s stomach, right to the tops of her ribs. 

“Such a tease,” Lou murmurs. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” She palms Debbie’s bare breast under her shirt. 

“All my bras were in _ my  _ room,” Debbie says breathlessly as Lou squeezes her nipple and twists just enough to send a shiver down her spine. 

Lou growls something incoherent in the back of her throat and licks up Debbie’s neck to her mouth. Debbie tugs her closer, fingers looped into the belt loops of Lou’s maroon silk pants. It’s sloppy - full of teeth and tongue. The edge of it is enough to make her forget the job, forget the others inside, forget about everything but Lou’s lips on hers and Lou’s fingers tugging at the waistband of her light grey cigarette pants. 

“Lou,” she gasps as Lou’s fingers slip lower, dancing down between her legs. 

Her pulse follows Lou’s fingertips, and Debbie’s sure Lou can feel it even through the layer of fabric. Her head falls back against the brick wall with a thump. It takes everything she has to stroke down Lou’s arm, caress her wrist, and guide her fingers away. 

“Wait, baby.”

“I  _ want  _ you,” Lou protests. 

“Not like this.” Debbie kisses her knuckles. “We’ve waited six years -” 

“- Exactly. Just let me -”

“We can wait a little longer.” Debbie meets Lou’s gaze and holds it, tries to communicate how she wants nothing more than to be hers completely again. At last, Lou drops her eyes to their entwined fingers. She’s smirking, but the blush dusting her cheekbones tells Debbie she understands. 

“Fine,” she says, “but if they’re not gone in -” She checks her watch. “- ninety minutes, I’m having my way with you, whether they see us or not.” 

“Seeing that would probably drive them out anyway.” 

“You don’t think they’d stay for the show?” 

“Tammy might,” Debbie concedes. 

Lou grimaces. “Good point. If they’re not out in ninety minutes, I’ll kick them out. Tammy first.” 

“Deal.” 

**

Lou knows Debbie’s counting, can’t believe she can stay focused on the nuances between the fake stories she and Tammy are scripting to sell the pieces of the Toussaint. Across the room, Lou half-listens to Amita’s whispered assessment of each of the crown jewels. It’s essential that they have an estimate for everyone by the time they reveal the full extent of the job, but Lou keeps typing the wrong numbers into her phone calculator. 

It’s not just about sex, though she’d be kidding herself to not admit that her body was making that need very clear at the moment. No, sex is only part of it. Lou wants her honesty, her vulnerability, her genuine self. She wants  _ all  _ of Deborah Ocean, the way she always has. It’s hard to stop missing her, after all these years.

“Hey!” Amita snaps her fingers under Lou’s nose. “Are you listening to me at all?” 

Lou jumps and looks down at her phone, where she’s typed a jumble of meaningless numbers across the calculator. “Uh,” She clears her throat, and half glances towards Debbie.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Amita smirks and flips back to her first page of notes. “Ready to start again?”

“What? Oh, Uhm,” Lou checks her watch. “No, actually.” 

“Lou, we’re talking hundreds of millions of dollars.” 

“I know, but I think we all could do with some rest after last night. Let’s make it an early night and pick this up tomorrow.” 

Amita gives her an incredulous look. “It’s only 3:30.” 

Lou yawns. “Great time for a nap. Come on, don’t you want to start apartment hunting?

“Are you kicking me out?” 

“No, I’m kicking all of you out.” Lou stands up and stretches, turns to the rest of the room. “Alright ladies, it’s been a big day, but it’s getting late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow, too.” 

“It’s 3:30,” Tammy deadpans. 

Lou shrugs. “Whatever. Debbie and I will see you tomorrow afternoon, okay?” 

No one moves. Constance’s eyes dart between Lou and Debbie, and a smirk spreads across her face. She opens her mouth. 

“You know, I really could do with some sleep,” Rose cuts in. 

“Me too!” Amita agrees, over enthusiastically, gathering up her things. 

The others chime in, and Lou sighs in relief, trying to ignore the smirks and winks that are shot in her direction. It takes less than five minutes for the sound of Constance’s skateboard to fade across the lot next door. And then it’s just her and Debbie, staring at each other from opposite sides of the living room. 

Lou breathes. 


	10. [1 times 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou waits until Debbie’s foot hits the second-to-last stair and then she moves all at once; takes the steps two at a time; has Debbie pressed against the wall, pinning her arms above her head - both wrists held tight in one of Lou’s hands before Debbie can finish rolling “Lou,” off of her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We thank you for your patience following last week's cliff hanger written by Hope!  
> Don't forget to guess who wrote this one as well;).
> 
> Without delay...

One of them breathes in and the other breathes out and they aren’t even sure who does which but that’s all it takes.

That’s all it takes for Lou to turn predatory and stalk three paces towards Debbie, who is still on the other side of the couch. And that’s all it takes for the breath Debbie’s holding to lurch from her lungs as she waits.

“I want you upstairs. On my bed. Now.” 

Lou’s voice is low and her nostrils flare when she speaks and Debbie squares her shoulders and sets her jaw and moves past Lou to the metal stairs that go to the second level. Makes sure to pass close enough that Lou feels the air move, but doesn’t touch her. Not yet. This might be Lou’s game but Debbie makes it clear that she plays to win all the same. 

The swirl of air that’s left in Debbie’s wake settles in the marrow of Lou’s bones and she waits. Tracks Debbie with her eyes. Tracks the even staccato of heels against the hardwood; the tension holding her spine rigid; the hint of a blush creeping up Debbie’s neck from her collar bones, under Lou’s gaze. 

And Lou  _ waits _ . 

Waits because it’s been this long, and what’s a few extra minutes at this stage when she’s really quite enjoying the subtlety of Debbie’s reactions to being under observation. 

Lou waits until Debbie’s foot hits the second-to-last stair and then she moves all at once; takes the steps two at a time; has Debbie pressed against the wall, pinning her arms above her head - both wrists held tight in one of Lou’s hands before Debbie can finish rolling “ _ Lou _ ,” off of her tongue. Lou presses Debbie’s body into the drywall with her own, flush, to feel the way her flesh yields against her own curves.

And then Lou waits again.

Waits for Debbie to work herself up to shaking exhales and just a little bit of resistance against Lou’s grip and a whimper. It’s small, the sound that comes from the back of Debbie’s throat. Lou doesn’t mind. Knows it’s just the first. Knows that she’ll get more out of her, later, now she’s started the unravelling. 

Debbie pants. Lou’s lips curl and she breathes up the side of Debbie’s neck, tracing the line with her nose; waits out the second small whimper before following the same trail with her lips. Just a touch of teeth. She wants to make sure Debbie knows who’s in charge here, now that the job is finished for the day and the girls are gone and Debbie isn’t the fearless leader anymore. Lou intends on ruining her before the day is up.

Debbie wriggles against her, tugs at her arms, still held up above her head by Lou, drops her head back against the wall when Lou’s teeth trace a new pattern up the other side of her neck.

“Tut, tut,” Lou scolds softly, using her free hand to grip Debbie’s waist and pull her just off the wall and more tightly into her body. “Are you going to behave for me?”

“For now,” Debbie clicks her tongue and Lou laughs and hauls her away from the wall to kiss her, finally. Kisses her chaste and then demanding and then hungry while leading her down the hall; closes her bedroom door once they’re inside and presses her back against that, too, with Debbie’s arms winding around her neck and her hands gripping Debbie’s waist and she somehow isn’t expecting it when Debbie fingers weave through her hair and  _ tug _ their lips apart and her head to the side so that lips and teeth can mangle the spot over her pulse.

Debbie can feel Lou’s heartbeat under her tongue, tipping into overdrive. 

“Somebody’s eager.”  
“Five years, eight months, and twelve days, Jailbird. And  _ then  _ ninety fucking minutes.” Lou grinds out around a keen when Debbie tugs her hair a little harder.

She barely notices when Debbie shifts her hips to take advantage of Lou’s loss of linear thought to throw her off-balance, both of them away from the door, and towards the bed. It’s momentum and determination that lands Lou sitting on the mattress with Debbie, still standing, hovering above her.

“You look pleased.”

Debbie doesn’t respond; not out loud. She raises a single defiant eyebrow and shoves Lou’s knees far enough apart that she can stand between them and goes to work on the tie tucked down the front of Lou’s vest, carefully unwinding it from the tangle of necklaces Lou wears. Lou sits up; reaches for the clasps behind her neck. Debbie’s voice stops her.

“Leave them.”

She does. Drops her hands to Debbie hips instead and pulls her further into the v between her thighs while Debbie runs the bright red length of satin through her fingers. It doesn’t match the deep colour of her suit, but it does match Debbie’s lipstick. She ponders it, eyes flipping between the tie and Debbie’s lips; the tie and Debbie’s lips; until she can’t see either because the red silk is over her eyes and being tied loosely behind her head.

“Debs -” it’s full of sandpaper-grit, and a weak sort of protest that doesn’t mean she isn’t into it. She’s just taken a little by surprise.

“Relax, baby,” Debbie’s voice is right against her ear. “You’ll get your turn.”  _ To play _ is implied. They’re built on the game. Not manipulation and deceit and  _ leaving, _ but filled with who can wait and who will press while the other pulls; and which one will give in first; and who can take more than they give. It’s the back and forth that wove them inextricably together almost two decades ago and will tie them back together, now. 

“Shhh,” Debbie coos; peels the blazer off of Lou’s shoulders and then down her arms. Lou feels the silk covering Debbie’s breasts brush against her when she leans over her shoulder to help her get out of the structured jacket. Feels the tip of Debbie’s tongue along the line of her jaw when she straightens and then steps back entirely. 

“Be patient, Lou,” she soothes over the noise that slips through Lou’s parted lips before she feels Debbie’s fingers popping the buttons down the front of her vest, seemingly having lost some of her own constitution and moving faster than before. She lets Lou shrug it off and toss it to the side on her own while opening the front of the matching pants and tapping the outside of her leg. 

“Hips.”

Lou understands and follows Debbie’s single-word direction, raising herself up while Debbie slides her trousers down and off, pausing to take care of the heeled boots and socks on her feet at the same time and then Debbie finally,  _ finally _ brushes another kiss to Lou’s lips once she’s got her down to nothing more a pair of lace boyshorts.

It’s barely even a kiss, really. More Debbie’s tongue ghosting out to tease, but Lou’s already in overdrive and then Debbie drops a hand to run her index finger over the centre of Lou’s panties and Lou thinks she could lose herself right there, just from that. 

“Please, Debs.”  
“Please what?”  
“You know what I like, Deborah.”

And Debbie has come to the end of her own patience for making Lou wait because Lou was right, it’s been five years, eight months, and twelve days, and then ninety fucking minutes, and now another thirty and that is far, far too long when she knows  _ exactly _ what Lou likes.

Lace pushed aside and Debbie’s tongue against the mess between Lou’s thighs and a single finger, for now, two in a few minutes when the stream of curses has died down just a bit and Debbie’s chin is slick with her. 

It’s the second finger that does it - curling upwards along with the first inside of her that tips Lou over the edge. Debbie watches from between creamy thighs as Lou tips back onto the bed, feeling smug and relieved all at once. Relieved that  _ this  _ part of them hasn’t wavered; that she still knows this part of Lou without a second thought. Smug that she can do this  _ to _ Lou without having to stop and think. 

Catching her breath, Lou tugs the tie-come-blindfold off her eyes to find Debbie hovering over her again, one hand braced to hold her weight beside Lou’s head, the other tracing swirls and circles and diagonal lines across Lou’s stomach.

Lou hooks a finger into the neckline of Debbie’s blouse, tugs her down so she can whisper in her ear, hoarse from just minutes before. 

“Off. Now.” 

It isn’t a suggestion and it isn’t a request and Debbie knows it damn good and well. It’s a demand. It’s Lou asserting that Debbie has had her turn but they are in  _ Lou’s _ bed and Lou will  _ have _ Debbie in her bed whatever ways she wants. And oh, how she  _ wants _ .

The glint in Debbie’s eye as Lou moves up the bed to lean against the headboard tells her that she isn’t quite done with the control yet, though. Isn’t quite finished putting all of her cards on the table. She won’t openly defy, however. Strips out of her silk blouse and black pants and satin panties and high heels and, finally, Danny’s watch and takes the hand that Lou holds out to her, swings a leg over Lou’s thighs, and settles straddling her lap, deliciously bared. 

Any patience Lou may have had to tease slipped out the window when Debbie slipped that silk tie over her eyes. Debbie’s back arches when lips wrap around a nipple and play it to a peak before repeating the process with the other and slipping her hand down between Debbie’s legs.

“You’re soaked.”  
“All day, Lou.”

Lou doesn’t waste time with a single digit. Lets Debbie sink down onto two and feels as much as she hears the moan that the choice inspires. 

“Come on sweetheart,” Lou coaxes, “You can do it.”

Debbie knows what Lou wants here and now, too, with two fingers deep inside her.

“I want more. Make it worth my while, Lou.”  
“You’re sure.”  
“Please, baby.”

Lou adds a third finger for Debbie to start riding in gentle sways. Presses her thumb into Debbie's clit to feel the clench around them. Debbie inhales shaky, and exhales loud, and bottoms herself out and -

“I thought you were with Nine Ball.” 

There it is. The control Lou’s been waiting for Debbie to try to reclaim. She smirks and curls her fingers and Debbie moans and Lou plays along because it doesn’t bother her that the power-struggle is part of their game. Doesn’t bother her because there are uncountable moments in between where they’ve both given it away to the other without pause. 

“ _ With  _ her?”  
Debbie buries her face in Lou’s neck. Sucks what will be a small blue bruise by morning into Lou’s skin. “Didn’t like how close you were sitting to her.”  
“I’ve always wanted you.” 

Lou’s words, muttered against the skin of Debbie’s neck push Debbie over just as much as the three fingers inside her and the thumb moving in tight circles.

_ “Christ, Lou,” _ is drawn out over top of a moan that leaves Debbie’s thighs shaking and her lungs screaming for  _ more air _ while she hunches, forehead resting against Lou’s collar bone. The sound when Lou pulls her fingers from Debbie is obscene; even more obscene is the way she licks them clean, tongue flicking out between each one in turn.

“God, you taste good.”

Debbie laughs, small but genuine, and sits up. Cups Lou’s cheek. 

“You were jealous, weren’t you?” The twinkle is back in Debbie’s eye. Lou knows it means trouble. She also knows it’s never ended poorly when it starts like  _ this _ .  
“Jealous of what?”   
“Me flirting with Tammy.” 

Lou cocks an eyebrow, tries to wink but just ends up giving Debbie her usual three-quarter-face-blink. “What makes you say that?” 

Debbie grinds down into Lou’s lap; draps her arms around Lou’s neck. “Your belt buckle was digging into my ass when we were looking at that necklace, and I know what that means, baby.” 

“Do you?” Lou’s voice is low now, even for her, even for their bedroom, even maybe a little bit dangerous.   
“Yes.”   
“And?” Lou nips at the spot just under Debbie’s ear, and then trails down her neck to where it meets her shoulder.  
“And if you want to -” Debbie doesn’t even finish the sentence before Lou is reaching over to pull out the neon orange strap. 

“Hands and knees, Jailbird.” 


	11. [10 to 15 years]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lou answers after four rings - two more than it would take if Debbie’s name flashed across her caller ID; one more than if it was a manager from a club on a night Lou wasn’t there; but two less than it would take if it was Tammy, and three less than Daphne. She always answers, always , other than the times she has Debbie underneath her, that is. But there is a clear hierarchy of priority for conversation.
> 
> “Yeah?”  
> “Lou?”  
> “ Constance?” Lou lifts an eyebrow that she knows Constance can’t see, answering the question with a question while signing off on an invoice for the contractor coming in to repair one of the speakers downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for all of the incredibly kind comments and kudos <3
> 
> Chapter 10 was written by Netterz and we hope you enjoy chapter 11!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: for mentioned potential rape and/or dubious consent.

The alarm on her phone - set to vibrate - draws her from sleep all at once buzzing against the wooden top of the bedside table. She silences it quickly, and props herself on an elbow to peer down at the second body in her bed, still firmly in the realm of unconsciousness. 

She watches her sleep; tangled in the crisp, white sheets and lying on her front with her face turned the other way. Trails her eyes along a line of sunlight that sneaks through a gap in the curtains, cutting stark across her back; dark hair rumpled across her pillow; arms tucked into herself.

It isn’t usual for Debbie to sleep past barely-dawn; isn’t usual for something as blatant as an alarm, even one set to vibrate, not to wake her. But it also isn’t unusual at times like these. 

The job is done - good and truly done, with the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed and the diamonds and the jewels shimmering flawlessly, being set into new pieces with new owners all across the country, some around the world. 

This is the point at which Debbie usually crashes. When she’s seen the job through to the end and doesn’t have to be ready to jump at any unexpected turns; when she _knows_ that it worked.

And so, while the behavior isn’t typical it also isn’t a-typical, and Lou is content to take a few extra moments to watch her, smelling of sleep and sex from last night, before pulling herself gently away and padding into the bathroom. 

When Lou steps out of the shower and tousles wax through her air and lines her eyes in black, she already misses the sleep and sex that the water washed off her skin. She settles for a spray of the perfume Debbie stole for her to replace it and steps back into her bedroom. 

Debbie is still asleep, still tangled in the sheets, by the time Lou has slipped into charcoal grey jeans and a black silk shirt and bright red ankle boots. 

The clinks of necklaces being pulled off the dresser-top to be layered around Lou’s neck draw Debbie halfway back to wakefulness. Her eyes flutter softly and her back arches, and Lou crosses the floor to brush her hair back from her face and trail her fingers over her shoulder, and drop a soft kiss to her temple. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.”

Debbie knows Lou is just going to the club for a few hours, maybe a little more; allows her heavy eyes to fall closed again, listens as Lou makes her way down the metal stairs; walks past the kitchen; detours through the living room to collect the leather jacket draped over the back of the couch; and clicks the door closed as quietly as she can behind her.

Four hours after Lou leaves, Constance bursts into the loft with little circumstance and no notice. 

It’s a habit that’s grown more and more frequent since the gala, whether there was work to do or not. Debbie and Lou d0n’t question it and for that, Constance is thankful. She isn’t sure she could totally explain it if she tried. Her condo is beautiful; and, frankly, the co-op board full of doting and doddering grandmothers is oddly entertaining, and keeps her cookie jar regularly stocked with any number of homemade varieties. Lou’s loft, though. The loft feels odd, as a space where Constance can be herself. She can show off the watch she lifted from an unsuspecting oaf in Central Park in one breath then trade a recipe for pulled pork with Lou in the next. Constance won’t ever _make_ those recipes. But letting Lou talk about them means she knows what to raid the fridge for a few days later when she drops by again.

Debbie is oddly affectionate when Constance appears unannounced. Letting her get into the collection of even her favourite teas that are stashed in the fourth cabinet to the left of the stove; and not bothering to tell her to stop flipping through channels faster than she could possibly be registering what each one is showing. Constance thinks that it’s the way she lost Danny. That, maybe, she took to Constance the way she would a younger sibling in the absence of the older sibling that did the same things for her. Maybe. She isn’t sure and she also isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Constance finds Debbie perched stiff on a stool at the kitchen counter this time. Perched stiff on a stool, hovering over a cup of tea that appears to have long-since gone cold and with deep, dark circles under her eyes; wearing leggings and a plaid flannel shirt made up of deep orange and red tones that looks like it must belong to Lou, worn thin and soft. 

“Yo, boss. You good?”

Debbie waves her off and pinches the bridge of her nose at the sudden onslaught of noise. 

Constance shrugs, yanks the fridge open, riffles through, comes across leftover LoMein. She pops the container directly into the microwave and clangs through the cutlery drawer for a fork. She’s expecting the disapproval that usually comes from Debbie, inspired by the lack of using chopsticks. Not a sound.

Debbie’s head pounds at the beeping of the microwave indicating whatever time Constance set on it is up, and her stomach clenches at the smell of the steam that comes from the takeout container as Constance slurps one bite, and then another into her mouth.

Debbie doesn’t think she reacts outwardly. Then Constance is waving the box under her nose, “-want a bite?”

Debbie clenches her jaw and shoves off the stool, away from the counter, around Constance, and tumbles into the lower-level bathroom. Constance watches after her for a beat, and then two, and then three. Hears the tap turn on in an attempt to mask the sound of mostly-dry heaves and coughs that come straight from the bottom of Debbie’s chest. 

Constance sticks her fork into the box in her hand, drops the box onto the counter with a small thud, and cautiously moves towards the bathroom and leans against the door jam. 

“Ocean?” She peers into the bathroom, not far enough to catch sight of Debbie at the other end of the room. “You good?”

When she doesn’t get a response beyond what sounds like another dry heave, she takes a deep breath and steps inside. Debbie is hunched over the toilet bowl, face flushed, eyes red, one arm straining to hold her weight while the other holds her hair awkwardly away. Constance bites her lip - this isn’t something she’s good at; catches sight of a hair elastic that, honestly, looks like it belongs to Tammy’s daughter, pale purple and fuzzy, but will do for now, and steps close enough to hesitantly touch Debbie’s hand and pry it away from the dark, messy waves.

“I got it, boss.” She manages some nod to a messy top-knot, and notices how warm and clammy Debbie’s forehead feels when she pulls her hair back. Grimaces a little, doesn’t want to find a thermometer to discover just _how_ warm she might actually be. “I’ma call Lou. Don’t go anywhere.”

Lou answers after four rings - two more than it would take if Debbie’s name flashed across her caller ID; one more than if it was a manager from a club on a night Lou wasn’t there; but two less than it would take if it was Tammy, and three less than Daphne. She always answers, _always_ , other than the times she has Debbie underneath her, that is. But there is a clear hierarchy of priority for conversation.

“Yeah?”  
“Lou?”  
“ _Constance?”_ Lou lifts an eyebrow that she knows Constance can’t see, answering the question with a question while signing off on an invoice for the contractor coming in to repair one of the speakers downstairs.  
“Where you at?”  
“The club.”  
“How much longer?”  
_“Constance,”_ Lou intones again, needing her to spit it out or let her get back to work.  
“Did you see boss-lady before you left?”

  
“ _Shit_ .” She _should_ have questioned Debbie being so tired; should have questioned her still being asleep. “Where is she?”  
“Currently? Bathroom floor.”

  
“I’ll be there soon,” Lou says in a rush, already out her office door and heading towards the stairs to the main level of the club. “Hey Constance?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Stay there, until I get back? Please?”  
“Wasn’t going anywhere.”

The phone call didn’t take long, but by the time Constance returns to the bathroom Debbie is slumped against the wall, slipping steadily down to being completely on the tile floor.

“Boss?”   
No response.   
“Ocean?”   
Still nothing.   
“Debbie?”

Hearing her first name come from Constance’s mouth rouses Debbie a bit, even induces a small smile as she considers that it’s the first time she’s heard her say it at all. It’s a funny feeling, thinking that this moment is what breaks that particular threshold of their relationship; that it’s somehow crossing some line between professional and personal life. She finds that she doesn’t mind that much; Constance is smart and capable and worth trusting. She can’t centre herself around her though. Can’t seem to stop her head from spinning or her very empty stomach from churching or her muscles burning. She needs,

“Lou?” It’s barely a croak, but Constance hears it.  
“Soon.”

Debbie lets herself lie on the floor, and without any real sense of how to help, Constance gets a glass of water that she makes sure Debbie knows is beside her, perches on the edge of the sink, and waits. 

Lou forces herself to stay no more than ten over ten over the speed limit on the drive home; reminds herself that getting pulled over would only delay her arrival longer. When she does arrive, she doesn’t bother to shed her jacket or step out of her boots. Crosses the living room; into the bathroom; nods at Constance who quickly b-lines out the front door. 

Lou takes in Debbie’s form on the bathroom floor; curled in on herself, wrapped in a half-ancient and oversized flannel, hair falling out of the elastic that must have been shoved in place by Constance; and drops to her knees beside her.

“Debs?” Lou gently tugs the haphazard hair tie, which looks like it’s pulling Debbie’s hair more than anything else, out of the tangles it leaves behind, and rakes her fingers through the waves, clearing them away from Debbie’s face. 

Debbie’s warm; too warm even lying on the tile floor and she doesn’t seem to have registered Lou’s presence in the room yet.

“Debs-darling?” Lou tries again and receives a small groan and a roll of Debbie’s head even if her eyes stay closed. “I need you to work with me here, baby.” Lou grasps Debbie’s forearms and tries to haul her off the floor and Debbie is awake all-at-once with her eyes snapping open and her limbs going rigid and her hands weakly flailing to push back against Lou. It’s then that Lou sees it - something she’s so rarely seen in Debbie’s eyes that it catches her unexpecting every time - fear. Unfocussed, unadulterated fear. And then Debbie speaks, barely over a mutter, so low Lou barely makes it out,

“-no… Claude… not now.”

A small piece of Debbie’s mind knows she isn’t _there_ anymore; is fairly sure she has a fever. All she can see, though, is angular shoulders and a square jaw and all she can feel is hands wrapping around her arms. _Too gentle to be him_ , that small part of her mind tells her. _But i don’t_ know _._ The rest pushes back and she shrinks, tries to disappear into the tile that she’s being pulled off-of.

Lou very nearly drops Debbie straight back onto the floor at the words she knows Debbie can’t be aware she’s saying - caught somewhere between fever and awake. Her mind rewinds to the last time Debbie was sick like this; the year before she went to prison. Lou had been away - six states away working on a piece of a job that Debbie needed her to do alone in order to keep it away from Becker. They hadn’t spoken in a week - all agreed-upon even if they didn’t like it; part of laying low - but her phone rang at what would have been late at night in New York. 

_“Debbie?”  
_ _“Lou?”_

_All it had taken was one word croaked from the back of Debbie’s throat for Lou to go into high-gear; ready to drop everything and come home and sweep Debbie off of Claude’s bathroom floor and out of his apartment and forget about any of the payouts he still owed her._

_“It’s okay Lou, I’m okay. It’s just a cold.”_ _Debbie had lied through her teeth and Lou knew it, but she also knew she couldn’t actually do any other things she wanted. “I just wanted to talk to you. Miss you.”_

_“I miss you too, Debs. Where’s Becker?”_

_Debbie made a non-committal sound that Lou knew came with a shrug. “He was here earlier, then he left. I think he got tired of me taking up the bathroom.”_

With a deep breath and a shake of her head, Lou keeps her hold on Debbie while she reaches for the washcloth she used the night before to take off her make-up, slung over the edge of the sink, and turns on the tap to soak it in cool water. She blots the clamminess from Debbie’s forehead and cheeks.

“Debs, it’s me.”  
“Lou.” It’s a sigh of relief more than anything else as Debbie’s eyes clear a little more and she pushes the cool cloth away to burrow her face into Lou’s belly.

Lou tosses the cloth back over the sink where it came from, and pulls Debbie more fully into her arms, close to an upright-sitting position.

“What hurts, baby?”  
Debbie grunts and gestures vaguely to herself as if to say, everything.  
“Can I get you off the floor?”

Debbie furrows her eyebrows and considers whether moving will make her sick again. Decides she’s done for now, and nods tiredly, letting Lou hoist her up to standing and help her brush her teeth and rinse her mouth and take a few sips of cold water before feeling herself be lifted into Lou’s arms altogether. 

Lou knows Debbie hates lying sick in bed; deposits her on the couch instead and moves to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Debbie holds fast with her arms around Lou’s shoulders and lets out a whimper.

“Don’t go.”  
“I’m just going to get you something for your throat.”

She returns quickly with hot ginger tea, a fresh glass of water, and liquid fever reducer that Debbie gags on when she has to swallow. 

Lou has questions running her mind ragged as Debbie curls into a ball beside her on the couch with her head pillowed on Lou’s thigh. For now, she combs her fingers through her hair and watches her sleep. Turns on the television with the volume on low and flips through the channels until she finds an old Gilmore Girl rerun - an oddly intriguing show that Debbie loved and had forced Lou to watch multiple times over the years. 

Debbie wakes up again halfway through the back-to-back episodes; stays quiet; curls into Lou a little tighter and focuses her gaze on the screen.

The silence stays silent, comfortably full, until the credits roll and Lou exhales audibly.

“Honey?”  
“Mmm?”  
“Did he fuck you when you were sick like that, Deborah?”

Debbie doesn’t sit up and she doesn’t move to meet Lou’s eyes. She shrugs a little and rests a hand on Lou’s knee to trace patterns and swirls against the denim covering her skin. “I don’t know,” the tone of her voice belies the very real possibility. “Maybe. But maybe not. There are a lot of gaps. He doesn't like being around sick people. I was cold - so so cold. Got myself a blanket at some point, off the couch. He didn’t like that I had it on the bathroom floor."

Lou doesn’t say anything. Pulls the soft, striped blanket off the back of the couch and tucks it around the shape of her, doing her best not to jostle her too much in the process. She pushes Debbie’s hair back from her face again; half in a gesture of wanting to see her as she speaks, half checking to make sure her fever is still under control.

“I got sick while I was in prison.”  
“When?”  
“Third year,” Debbie begins, and swallows around the scratch in her throat and takes a sip of her water before going on. “Somebody in my family pissed somebody off and I got to pay for it in the middle of the yard on a Thursday morning with a knife to the hip.”

Lou moves her hand from Debbie’s hair to her hip, tracing the line she knows marrs her skin and curves around her thigh. 

“Dina saw it happen. So did another guard. Doctor wasn’t in that day. They rinsed it out and wrapped it up and hoped for the best.”  
“It got infected, didn’t it?”  
“I didn’t want to see the doctor.”

Lou takes a moment to swallow the information; Debbie chews the inside of her cheek; eventually Lou asks, “Why not?”

“He looked a little too much like Claude.” Lou waits, can sense that Debbie isn’t finished. “I think she knew him too.” 

Lou realizes that Debbie has jumped to somewhere not quite linear and can’t quite follow. Moves her hand back from Debbie’s hip to her forehead to see that the fever is still in-check.

“Who knew who?

Debbie squeezes her eyes shut and sighs. She’s never been able to shake these particular memories; never been able to dull them from vivid technicolour into black and white, either. She can still feel them - almost nearly - every time she thinks about them. “She knew Claude.” 

“The one who sliced you open?”  
“I think he sent her in there just for that. I don’t know how much he paid her, but -” Debbie pauses at the sound of disgust that crawls from between Lou’s lips. “He wanted me to suffer.”

Lou is silent for a while. “You’re never going to suffer like that ever again.” It comes out like an order. “Never again.”

Debbie smiles a little. “You gonna protect me, baby?” 

“Always.” Lou drops a kiss to her forehead, still concerned at how warm her skin feels against her lips. “Always.” 

Debbie sleeps and Lou takes inventory; inventory of the other scars that are scattered across Debbie’s skin that weren’t there before, _before_. She can’t see all of them with Debbie fully-clothed on the couch, but she knows they’re there.

The burn on her forearm. The slash across her wrist. Especially the slash - she can’t force herself to ask about that one. The potential answers too gutting. Debbie brings it up herself, though. Twelve hours, three doses of Advil, and one dose of Tylenol later when her fever has broken and they’re curled on the couch again with Lou stretched out and Debbie leaning back against her: 

“Don’t you want to know about the other ones?”   
“The other -”  
“Marks, blemishes, scars - whatever you want to call them.”  
“I wasn’t going to ask.”   
"This one was a burn from an iron,” She indicates her forearm. “I gave it to myself -"   
Lou hisses at that.   
“- Someone was going to rat on me about the cigarettes.”

Lou braces herself, and finds her courage, and lifts Debbie’s wrist to her lips; asks, “And this one?" 

Debbie smirks. "That is from about a year ago when I was filing my toothbrush into a shiv to threaten Claude. My hand slipped."

“Seriously?”  
“Seriously.”

Later, still sitting on the couch, now with Lou’s chest at her back, legs bent on either side of her, Debbie runs her hand along the length of Lou’s calf, can feel a jagged line there that Debbie doesn’t _know_ , yet, even through a layer of denim.

“And you?”

Lou rolls her eyes. “Motorcycle; open road in the Blue Mountains; beautiful, right up until _Linus_ popped up in the middle of the road, just around a bend, out of fucking nowhere. I swerved to miss him and bailed off. His first aid skills were adequate but not to be envied.” 

Debbie laughs, “Of course he did.” Then asks, “What was he after?”  
“He thought I might have this.” She lifts Debbie’s wrist and toys with the watch. “Danny sent him.”   
Debbie shakes her head; a little amused, a little nostalgic. “I was always one step ahead.” 

***

  
Lou waits until the trial is almost over. Waits until he has almost-almost been charged. Until the taste of incarceration is creeping across his tastebuds, towards the back of his throat, and it tastes like ash and formaldehyde. She’s patient. She’s good at waiting when it suits her. 

The gallery is clean; modern; _sterile_ in a way. It doesn’t surprise her; still irritates. 

Lou has kept her back to everything but the wall in front of her where an impressionist-style cityscape made up of deep purples and orange and yellow hangs - oils on linen - and with the petite red-headed woman with smoky eyes in a black cocktail dress blocking any view of her from the office at the back.

“Where did you say the artist was from?”  
“Prague. It really is a spectacular piece. He did a full series but this is the last one available.”  
“Seems an opportune investment.”  
“Truly an opportunity not to be missed.” 

Lou sips from the glass of champagne that the sales associate - Kayla - had handed her when she first started working the sale of this piece. She feels him in the room before she sees him, and long before he realizes he’s seeing her. Feels the smarmy and pompous in the air and lets it bloom. Lets it take full form before she speaks again.

“It’s interesting that you have this piece for sale.”  
“And why is that?” His voice is just as sludgy as she remembers but his eyes lose their shine when she turns around and regards him, handing her still mostly-full flute back to his associate and levelling him with narrowed eyes.  
“Because I own the original. It’s in my office at work - a lot of people see it on a regular basis.”  
“I assure you that we only deal in authentic -” Kayla attempts to interrupt.

“- I bought it directly from the artist. An old friend.” Lou cuts her off as she turns to leave; steps towards the door to pick up bagels and a copy of the paper, emblazoned with _‘Art Dealer to be Charged for Met Gala fiasco,’_ and resists the urge to shatter the windows on her way out. Keeps her eyes on Becker over her shoulder and smirks. “I’m sure he’d be very interested to know just how sought-after his work has become here in New York.”


	12. [minus 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small part of Debbie revels in the two weeks she’ll spend occupying a space that is so intrinsically Lou’s and having it all to herself. Of wrapping herself in the soft cotton and brocade quilt upstairs and taking up the entirety of Lou’s queen mattress. And then she’ll have Lou back to wrap herself around, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your lovely comments! 
> 
> The previous chapter was written by Netterz. <3

Lou departs for California without ceremony. 

With Debbie leaning in the doorway wrapped in Lou’s plaid robe and still-swollen lips curled into a smirk watching Lou pack the last of her gear into saddle bags hanging on either side of her bike. With Lou raising an eyebrow and biting the inside of her cheek when Debbie speaks. 

“This morning gonna be enough to last you through the next two weeks, baby?”

Lou straightens and raises one eyebrow and saunters towards Debbie. Stands so close that Debbie - barefoot while Lou is in her boots - has to tip her head up just a bit to be able to meet her gaze, and has to tip it back even a little further when Lou’s hands come up to frame her face and Lou’s lips graze across her own. There’s heat there, still lingering from earlier when Lou was buried between Debbie’s thighs and Debbie had Lou’s hair so tangled around her fingers that Lou can still feel a phantom sting down the back of her scalp.

“I’ll miss you too, Debs.”

Lou’s hips sway as she backs away and she shakes her bangs out of her eyes to pull her helmet on when she makes it as far as her bike. She turns in one smooth motion and throws a leg over the motorcycle and starts the engine roaring to life.

Debbie stands in the doorway until she can’t see Lou anymore, and maybe a little after that just to be sure. And then she turns and steps back into the loft and closes the door firmly behind her.

It’s startling, in a way, just how  _ vast _ the loft feels when it’s only inhabited by one person. Debbie thinks that’s probably why Lou bought it; why Lou loved it - loves it. The air feels open and she has space to expand and take-up. Space to make her own. Lou has always expanded to fill whatever space she’s given. That’s one of the things Debbie loves most about her. Because any space that’s Lou’s is space that Debbie can exist inside without pretence. 

A small part of Debbie revels in the two weeks she’ll spend occupying a space that is so intrinsically  _ Lou’s _ and having it all to herself. Of wrapping herself in the soft cotton and brocade quilt upstairs and taking up the entirety of Lou’s queen mattress. And then she’ll have Lou back to wrap herself around, again.

In the shower Debbie uses Lou’s body wash but her own shampoo and conditioner; her considerably longer waves have different needs than Lou’s blunt cut. The steam mingles into the smell of them both, almost the way the bedroom had in the hours before Lou’s departure. 

Dressing proves to be harder than saying goodbye to Lou. 

Debbie stands staring into her selection of blouses wearing wide-leg trousers and a satin bra. In the end she reaches into Lou’s closet. Emerges with a white silk tuxedo-style shirt that she tucks in and finishes with an untied bow tie draped around her neck. The tie is Lou’s too but smells of Chanel N0 5. and Debbie realizes Lou can’t have worn it, or even pulled it out to consider wearing, since her release from prison.

It’s a pleasant walk to the cemetery, even in platform boots. The sun is warm against her face.

The air inside the mausoleum is chilled and still and demands more reverence than an illicit martini with extra olives. She won’t give it that reverence, or maybe it’s that she won’t give  _ him  _ that particular brand of it, but she will sit and share this moment with him. She’ll force him to share this moment with her, in this way.

“You would have loved it.”

The vodka is smooth and cold and tastes expensive just to sip where the olives are full of brine. Debbie thinks she might switch to gin, after this. Something dry and British and full of lavender. It would make an equally excellent martini, but maybe it would be more her own than a hand-me-down.

“How fucking dare you actually be in there, Danny.” The outburst comes suddenly, after the last sip of her drink, but not any louder than her previous statement. “This was my shot. My time to be the reigning Ocean and you couldn’t handle it.”

Debbie sighs and packs up her glass and the shaker and the small jar of olives, stashing them in the pockets of the jacket that she drapes over her arm. Looks at the plaque on the wall one more time before leaving.

“The best part is, you don’t even know how  _ big _ we took it. It was so much better than just the necklace, Danny. It was spectacular.”

**

It takes Debbie a whole week to consider going back. Even though she misses him. Even though missing him feels like shit. She makes excuses, fills her days with the loose ends of the Met job. She’s in contact with Nine and Tammy every day to make sure everything’s in place, but it’s not quite enough to get him out of her mind. She can see his eyes - so much like hers - gazing at her across that steel table in the visiting room of the prison. He only came once - her only visitor in almost six years, the day before last Christmas. It was the best present but she didn’t tell him that. Of  _ course _ she didn’t. He was always better with words, soft around the edges. She used to tease him for it, but now she misses it. More than anything, she wishes she could’ve found the words that day. 

It’s a full ten days later before she returns to the cemetery. The air is hot and sticky and she craves a change. Her black dress sticks to her, but the marble is cool, and maybe it’s the only thing that stays solid when all of New York seems to melt. She doesn’t bring anything with her this time - no martini, no words. She just sits and stares at his name as though it’s  _ him  _ she’s staring at, doesn’t even glance towards the door when it opens. Footsteps echo against the marble and she waits for them to cease, waits for him to sit down next to her. 

“Been wondering how long it would take to run into you.” 

Debbie smirks, but she doesn’t look at Rusty. She doesn’t want to see how sad he is because that’ll just remind her of how sad  _ she  _ is, of how much it actually hurts. 

“So, you and Lou, huh?” He nudges her shoulder playfully, and Debbie cracks a watery smile.   
“So,  _ you  _ and Lou, huh?” She shoots back. “She told me you kissed.”   
Out of the corner of her eye she sees him wring his hands a little nervously. “It was just a kiss, Deb. We were drunk, I -”   
She elbows him in the ribs. “I know.” 

He sighs. It’s quiet again but for the birds and the traffic on the main road.   
“You and Danny, too, huh?” She finally looks at him.

He swallows hard, nods, and Debbie doesn’t really know what to do with the expression on his face because she knows Lou would look just like that if she died. She knows, too, that she herself would be a whole lot worse if Lou died. She takes his hand. 

“I miss him too, Rust. I know he probably didn’t think I would, but -”  
“He knew.”   
“I loved him, and I can’t even remember the last time I told him that.” Debbie looks back at Danny’s name on the wall, and for the first time, there are actual tears burning behind her eyes for the brother she lost. She sniffs and blinks rapidly.   
“He knew that, too, Deb.” Rusty squeezes her hand. 

Debbie nods, trying to convince herself. “Do you wanna get out of here?” she asks. She doesn’t want to sit here, amongst the dead, any more. 

“Lunch?”   
“Sure.” 

They end up sitting on either side of a high-top table under an umbrella, spreading cream cheese on warm bagels. Debbie watches Rusty from behind her sunglasses, aware that he’s doing the same. Danny’s absence is more tangible than ever with the two of them sitting together - the two people that knew him best, whom he loved the most. 

“He should be here,” Debbie says, looking around and half-expecting Danny to step into view and stroll towards them.   
“I’ve been telling myself that for six months now.”   
“Does it help?”   
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”   
“What does?”

Rusty rubs a hand over his jaw, shakes his head. “Time, I guess. Sometimes a drink. Sometimes a  _ few _ ,” he admits. He’s silent for a long time after that, long enough that Debbie almost opens her mouth to say  _ something _ , even though she’s not sure what. But then, “Seeing you, Deb,” he says, chews his bottom lip. “Seeing Lou after the funeral, seeing you today. It’s harder to think I’m alone when someone’s looking at me.” 

His truth cuts deep, because Debbie isn’t lonely anymore. She’s whole and seen and desperately, achingly in love. And the pain of Danny’s death would be ten, a hundred times worse without Lou and Tammy and even Constance. She can’t reply, just nods and reaches out to grip his forearm. He pats her hand. 

“How did it happen?” she asks. She’s not sure why it matters, but she wants him to talk. 

He furrows his brow. “You know what happened. His heart--” 

“No,” she cuts him off, “no, not  _ that _ . You two. You and him. When did you -?”

“Oh,” he shrugs, a blush creeping along his cheeks. “Ten years ago, after our second Vegas run. He and Tess were over for good by then, and something - something changed. He’d gone all out - rented a private jet for a trip to the Maldives. Just the two of us, just for fun.” He smiles a little sheepishly. “We were going to con a big tourism company, just because we could.”

Debbie smiles back, encouraging him to continue. He’s describing a side of her brother she had never considered. It’s strange to think of him in love with his best friend, his partner. Then again, she can’t think of any two people who deserved each other more. Well, except for her and Lou. 

“We never ran the job,” Rusty tells her.   
“Why not?” 

“We - well, we -uh, got a bit distracted on the flight over. There was plenty of alcohol involved, that first time, but the next morning -” He sighs. “The next morning we were sober and it still felt right. Ended up spending two weeks at the fancy-ass resort we were going to rob. It was -  _ He  _ was -” Rusty trails off and takes a bite of his bagel, chews slowly. “I loved him,” he says at last with another shrug. The part of his face she can see under the sunglasses contorts, but he reaches for his coffee and takes a long swig. 

Debbie winces in sympathy, feels tears rise again. “Thanks for telling me,” she mumbles, forcing the words out over the lump in her throat. 

He nods and returns to his food. There’s nothing else to say, but somehow the air feels lighter. A breeze shifts the skirt of her dress. They eat in silence, each suddenly ravenous, until they’re picking crumbs off the crumpled paper between them. Something falls into place inside Debbie, and it’s okay to miss him now. It still hurts, but it makes sense. They stand up to leave and Rusty embraces her. She thinks she can still smell Danny’s cologne on his shirt. 

“Go get her, Deb.”   
“What?”   
“Lou. Go get her. Don’t waste anymore time, just...do it. Okay?”   
She knows what he’s trying to say. “Okay.” She kisses his cheek as she pulls away. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Never.” 

She walks away, back towards the loft, towards  _ home _ . Half-way there, she pulls out her phone and leans against a maple tree to send a message.

_ Montage Los Cabos. This Friday. _

**

She stays away again. Fewer days this time because she doesn’t have more than that, but away nonetheless. It’s how they always worked in life - one would come and go and the other would follow, eventually, but not right away. Never right away. It would feel wrong to do anything other than that now. So she honours it.

By the time she stands in front of his name again she’s read his letter over and over and over and committed every curve of the scrawled-out cursive to memory. 

“It  _ was  _ brilliant, Danny.” She responds to his letter directly because if he gets to say his piece from beyond the grave, maybe she does too. “You were right about that. But I was right first.”

She doesn’t sit down this time. Stands behind the bench where she can keep an eye on the doors to make sure she’s still alone, and has her suitcase - sitting off to the side - in view. 

“I’ll be back in a few weeks. Don’t worry, it’s not a job this time,” She smiles. “Well, maybe we’ll come up with something. Got to pass the time, after all. And there’s only so much focus on a single hobby we can keep.” 

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her trench she exhales with a note of finality. 

“Rusty misses you, just so you know. In case he hasn’t managed to tell you himself.”  _ I miss you, too _ is implied, but unspoken and speaking it through the guise of Rusty is likely the closest she’ll ever get to saying it  _ there _ , standing in front of Daniel Ocean. 

Debbie crosses the floor and collects her bag, and is about to exit when she comes to a pause, one hand on the handle of her suitcase the other poised to push the door open -

“If I ever find out you’re not in there,” her words resonate more from where she’s standing now, and she smiles and shakes her head. “You will be by the time I’m through with you.” 


	13. [∞]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Debbie doesn’t get down on one knee, doesn’t bother with any sort of question because rehearsed words sound hollow and Lou whispering “mine” in her ear while she pushes her swimsuit bottoms to the floor is more important anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with us! 
> 
> We both worked on the previous chapter: Netterz wrote the beginning and end; Hope wrote the middle scene with Rusty. 
> 
> Since this is the final chapter, we will reveal the author in the endnotes. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos and bookmarks mean so much to us; we have truly loved working together on this project! <3

_ Lou kept the newspaper from the day she went to his gallery, cut out the headline and added it to the pile in the second drawer of her bedside table. It was the first of many. For five weeks there was too much human interest to ignore in a disgraced art dealer; even the Times couldn’t get enough of it. Then it calmed down for a while. After he was sent to jail to await trial, enough for Debbie to get healthy, for the final jewels to be set and shipped. Lou was ready for California - ready for asphalt and leather and pine. Her new bike taunted her. But she couldn’t leave Debbie on her own. Not yet. Couldn’t, and she didn’t  _ want _ to. The novelty of waking up to her hadn’t worn off; a part of Lou was pretty damn sure it never would. But she needed the trip, too. Of course, she had asked Debbie to come with her, but Debbie’s face had clouded over at the suggestion.  _

_ “No,” she had said, “No. I have business to settle.” Lou had frowned, confused, but Debbie had cracked a smile and reassured her. “Oh, it’s not about the job. I said every step of the way and I meant it.”  _

_ “Then what?” _

_ “Danny. I have to -”  _

_ “Process?” _

_ “Something like that.”  _

_ Still, Lou waited, saw the news come in that his trial was to be expedited and added it to the pile of clippings in her drawer. They wanted him dealt with quickly. Sure enough, he was in court a week later.  _

_ Two days was all it took, and that was mostly because the value of all the stolen gems had to be enumerated in front of the judge. The jury was unanimous, and Lou picked up a first edition of the Times on her way home from the club in the wee hours of a Friday morning - “Art Dealer Gets Fifteen Years for Met Gala Grand Theft.”. Lou smiled grimly at the article, snipped out the words and set them aside before crumpling the photograph of Claude Becker’s face and throwing it into the trash can at the end of the kitchen island. Careful not to wake Debbie, Lou collected the rest of the clippings from upstairs and laid them out on the table.  _

_ It was astounding to see all the headlines laid out like that - everything they had done, everything Debbie had planned from that tiny jail cell. Lou sipped a cup of tea and stared down at the table, heart swelling with pride and the knowledge that it was  _ over _ , that the future could begin.  _

_ “I missed you last night.” _

_ Lou turned around to see Debbie leaning over the railing around the upper floor, hair still tousled with sleep, an over-large T-shirt of Lou’s hanging off one shoulder. Disheveled Debbie always made Lou’s pulse go a little wild, and it took her an extra moment to respond. She cleared her throat. _

_ “Missed you too. I just got back. Come see this.” She nodded towards the table.  _

_ Debbie made her way downstairs, bare feet silent on the metal steps of the stairs. Lou felt her warmth behind her before arms wrapped around her waist. She closed her eyes, leaned into her.  _

_ Debbie nuzzled her neck. “What’d you want to show me?”  _

_ Lou forced her eyes to open. “Oh, well -” She gestured at the array of newspaper clippings. The news of Claude Becker’s sentence was in the center of the table. Debbie’s sharp intake of breath told Lou she saw it at once. “You did it, Jailbird.”  _

“We  _ did it, baby.”  _

_ Lou carefully placed her teacup on the table and turned in Debbie’s embrace. “I love you.”  _

_ Debbie smiled, kissed her softly and all too briefly.  _

_ “What is it?” Lou asked, sensing tension in Debbie’s body.  _

_ “You’re leaving.” Debbie didn’t meet Lou’s gaze.  _

_ “You’re still invited, you know.” _

_ Debbie nodded. “Yeah, but -” _

_ “I know.”  _

_ “I’ll miss you,” Debbie said quietly, finally glancing up. Lou pushed her tousled hair back from her face.  _

_ “I know that, too. But for now -” She spun Debbie around to press her into the edge of the poker table.  _

_ Debbie gasped, her expression brightening. Lou kissed her, fiercely, tongue slipping between Debbie’s parted lips.  _

_ “For now we have something to celebrate.” _

_ Lou lifted Debbie onto the edge of the table, nudging her T-shirt up over her hips as she did to expose Debbie’s black lace panties. She kissed her again, gentler now, guiding Debbie to lie back on the newspaper. Bright morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the loft, and Lou set about making Debbie hers.  _

Lou’s lying on a slab of granite, gazing up at the clear blue sky above Joshua Tree National Park when Debbie’s text comes through. She sits up and shakes herself, takes a deep breath because she can’t rush this, can’t jump on her bike and drive all 22 hours at once. She has five days to meander out to the coast, to zig zag down the Baja Peninsula to Debbie’s resort of choice. 

She hikes the rugged mile back to her bike, snaps a few pictures along the way to convince herself that she’s calm. It almost works. The boulders piled and balanced as if giants stacked them centuries ago, the twisted trees, the smell of the dust - it’s compelling, and she can almost lose herself in it even with Debbie waiting for her. 

But Debbie’s pull has always been the strongest force of nature in Lou’s life, so she follows the tug and plans her route to Montage Los Cabos, roars across the border and through Tijuana the following day. From there she takes her time - stops in every town to buy something shiny for Debbie, who’s always been a bit of a magpie even before she came up with the biggest jewelry heist in history. And she keeps snapping photos, wants to remember the scorching days, the cold desert nights, because feeling everything so profoundly puts the ache for Debbie into a breathtaking, beautiful context.

**

Debbie’s plane lands at 10 in the morning on Friday. Thanks to Nine Ball, she’s already checked in and has key card privileges enabled on her phone when she reaches the resort. The suite has four large, windowed rooms, looking out over the ocean and their own private section of beach, sheltered by palms. All Debbie really cares about is the cabana, and she isn’t disappointed. Apart from the fact that it overlooks turquoise surf instead of the technicolor blue of the Caesar’s Palace pool, the cabana is identical to the ones that surrounded them when Lou’s shadow first crossed Debbie’s chaise lounge all those years ago after that fateful night at the Bellagio. It’s what they’ve always talked about, the logical next chapter, and Debbie’s 98% sure Lou will take it as such. 

The water calls to her and she can’t get out of her clothes and into her bathing suit fast enough. It’s brand new - black and simple and expensive as hell, not that she paid for it. She knows Lou will like seeing her in it, knows that Lou will like taking it off her even more. The thought sends a pleasurable shiver down her spine as she tosses a fluffy white towel onto the bed in the cabana. The sand is almost too hot for her bare feet, so she runs, runs until she hits the waves and then keeps running anyway, falls into the surf and tastes brine and sun-warmed sea. The water’s too warm to be physically refreshing, but she floats on triumph. She dunks her head below the water, lets the pulsing roar fill her eardrums for as long as she can bear before she reemerges, pushing her sopping hair back from her face and relishing the sting at the corners of her eyes. Two weeks here, maybe three, and her skin won’t remember even a day of prison. 

She spends a long time in the waves, riding them into shore and then just sitting with her feet sinking into the wet sand. She loves the feeling of the mud running under her soles. The sun is high in the sky by the time she rinses off and walks back up the beach towards the palms and the cabana. She’s hungry and sleepy in a good way, but then she notices the footprints of a heavy boots in the sand as if someone stood and looked out at the water - at  _ her - _ and then turned and -

“I was just about to come make sure you hadn’t drowned.” 

Debbie looks up to see Lou lying across the bed in the cabana and all thoughts of lunch and a nap are swept from her mind because this -  _ she  _ \- is what Debbie really wants. Her legs have stopped working though, and she stands there, dripping water onto the plank boards of the cabana and staring. 

Lou swings her legs off the bed and leans with her elbows on her knees. She tosses Debbie her towel, and Debbie only realizes that she hasn’t spoken when the fluffy cloth hits her in the face. 

She fumbles for it and stammers, “I went for a swim.” 

Lou grins. “I saw you.” 

“Yeah.” Debbie smiles back as she wrings out her hair. She tosses the towel onto a wicker chair and steps towards Lou. “How was the trip?” 

“Gorgeous, inspiring, spectacular...and nothing compared to this.” Her eyes twinkle at Debbie even as she cocks her head towards the ocean. “The beach isn’t bad either.” 

Debbie smirks. “I knew you’d like it.” She fiddles with the braided design at the center of her bikini top. 

“I missed you,” Lou says abruptly. 

“I missed you, too.” She takes a step nearer and finds she can’t stop. All at once, she’s standing between Lou’s spread legs, looking down at her. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

“Hey.” Lou’s eyes trace a slow line from her breasts to her eyes.

A breath, maybe two, and Debbie moves, cups Lou’s jaw and pulls her in. Her lips are soft and she tastes of the desert, somehow. Debbie tugs at her tight black T-shirt, untucking it from her leather pants, feels Lou untie her bikini top with two flicks of her fingers. Debbie can’t suppress a groan when she realizes Lou’s gone braless today, breaks the kiss to lick down her neck and breathe across her collarbone. Glancing up, Debbie notices that Lou’s already lost in it, eyelids heavy, fingers trembling against the starched white sheets. She takes Lou’s nipple into her mouth, laves it with her tongue until it’s straining and wet and a little salty from the hint of the sea left on her lips. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Lou mutters. 

Debbie returns to her mouth, replacing her lips with her hands on Lou’s breasts; pulls Lou tighter against her until Lou’s sitting on the very edge of the mattress, hips rolling against Debbie’s. 

“Debbie, please -” 

Debbie doesn’t need her to beg, not this time. She’s already working her way down her body again, undoing Lou’s pants with her skilled fingers. 

“I want you on your back,” she whispers, not sure where the courage for speech is coming from, but relishing the way Lou’s entire body reacts to the words. “Take these off.” 

Lou obeys, shimmies out of her pants and her boots and pushes herself back on the bed. Debbie follows and bends over her, focuses the back of her mind on the rush of the surf so that the rest of her mind can focus without distractions on the woman before her. Debbie nibbles Lou’s right hip bone, circles it with her tongue; does the same to a sensitive spot on the inside of Lou’s left knee. She draws lines and circles, a whole map of all the endless miles and eternal hours that have led them to this spot. Together. Today. 

Tasting her has always been Debbie’s favorite. She loves everything about it - her scent, her taste, the velvet  _ feel  _ of her. She loves the way Lou looks down at her as if she’s some kind of goddess. Debbie goes slow today, sucks at her folds and traces aching circles around Lou’s clit before dipping lower. She’s addicted to the feeling of warm salty heat vibrating at the tip of her tongue.  _ Oh, Lou.  _ Lou’s arms flail, as if she’s unsure of what to do with her hands. Eventually one settles on Debbie’s head, long fingers sending tingles through her scalp. Debbie spreads Lou wider, wraps her arms around her thighs and hums her contentment. 

Debbie takes her time, waits for the stream of curses falling from Lou’s lips to morph into something less coherent and then keeps her there until Lou is shaking and straining against Debbie’s mouth. She looks up at her then, just as Lou wraps a lock of Debbie’s hair around two fingers and tugs. Debbie smiles against her and unhooks one arm from Lou’s leg. It’s their signal, has been for years, and even though Debbie’s been inside her more than a few times in the past few weeks, the novelty of feeling it again hasn’t worn off. Debbie obeys the tug, teases Lou’s entrance for only a moment before slipping inside with one finger and another when Lou pulls her hair just a little harder. She’s slick and warm and quivering, and Debbie almost gasps at how good she feels. She doesn’t though, manages to keep her lips tight around Lou’s clit, increasing the pressure as she curls her fingers inside her. 

Lou cries out, every muscle taut, and Debbie guides her through one release and into the next, doesn’t let up until Lou reaches down to push her away from overstimulation. Debbie grins and kisses her way back up Lou’s body, keeps her fingers stroking in and out of her just to prolong the twitching of Lou’s thighs. And because she likes it,  _ loves _ it, loves  _ her _ .

“That was -” Lou murmurs. 

Debbie just laughs, relaxes against the mattress, head pillowed on Lou’s shoulder and finally withdraws her fingers. It’s a privilege to watch Lou lick them clean. 

“Tell me about your trip, baby,” she says, watches Lou’s eyes go a little glassy at the question, but can’t mistake the way she tugs Debbie closer, too. 

“I took photos,” Lou says, “but I think I’d rather bring you in person.” 

“Maybe for our honeymoon.”

“Our what?”

“You heard me.” 

Lou’s silent for an agonizing eight and a half seconds in which Debbie’s heart threatens to break her rib cage. Then Lou shrugs a little, blushes, and “Sounds perfect, Jailbird.” 

**

Debbie doesn’t get down on one knee, doesn’t bother with any sort of question because rehearsed words sound hollow and Lou whispering “mine” in her ear while she pushes her swimsuit bottoms to the floor is more important anyway. 

They eat, and afterwards Debbie spreads sunscreen over Lou’s pale skin and only scowls a little when Lou tells her it’s her turn. The ocean feels even better with Lou by her side in the surf. It’s there in the water, sometime later, that Debbie begins to explain her plan - an idea born of Rusty’s mention of scamming a tourist trap in the Maldives. It takes a half an hour to walk Lou through the entire scheme, and they stumble back up the beach as Debbie describes the finale. 

“This place won’t know what hit it,” Debbie says as she finishes, flops down in the double chaise lounge by the sliding door to their room. 

Lou sprawls next to her, drying her hair. “That’s incredibly stupid.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Debbie smiles, closes her eyes. “But it’s  _ good _ , right?” 

Lou chuckles and tosses her towel aside, “I guess we’ll see.” Her hand finds Debbie’s, weaving their fingers together. 

Debbie listens to the rush of the waves for a few minutes, content to just  _ be _ for what feels like the first time in her life. Doesn’t break the silence until Lou throws an arm around her and tugs her into the curve of her body. Then -

“I got the license, by the way,” she says, “just needs signatures.” 

Lou yawns sleepily. “Tonight? I need a nap first.” 

Debbie dips her head to kiss the soft skin of the arm tucked around her chest. “Yeah, baby. Whenever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope wrote this final installment! :) 
> 
> Keep an eye out for upcoming works from Hope by subscribing to hope_s.

**Author's Note:**

> We can be found on Tumblr as @estel-of-irysi and @blacklaceandchains.
> 
> Don't forget to guess which of us wrote this section in your comments. Or leave anything in the comments. We love comments - we have a problem.


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